


Love Exactly

by darter_blue



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming Out, Dating, Feel-good, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Panic Attacks, Sex, Sweet, Under-negotiated Kink, sassy bitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue
Summary: Eric Bittle (Soon to be captain of the Samwell Men's Hockey team, almost Senior) meets Jack Zimmermann (Actual Captain of the Falconers, Stanley Cup winner, Hockey God) in a crowded bar on a Sunday night.The attraction is instantaneous.But it's crazy, right? There's no such thing as love at first sight.So Bitty and Jack agree to date for three months and see if, after they get to know each other for real, they still feel the same (though Bitty's pretty sure Jack is already planning the wedding...).Like, this might actually all work out, eh?





	1. Pie or Forever

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Jack is a Falconer who never went to Samwell, Bitty is a Junior in the same year as his frogs and Shitty, Rans, Holtz and Lardo are all Seniors about to graduate.
> 
> Once again, thanks to the fabulous [jujubeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans) for the super fast, super awesome beta job. You are a star!

 

 

It’s one am, it’s Sunday night (okay, it’s technically Monday morning), Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle has been dragged out ‘on the town’ by the rest of his team (that’s Samwell University Men’s Hockey team, to the uninitiated), and into a pretty questionable establishment to ‘drown his sorrows’. His sorrows are fairly tame in the grand scheme of things, but Shitty (hockey nickname), team captain and unofficial collegiate councillor, was keen to hit up Providence and watch the Falconers wipe the floor (ice?) with the New York Rangers in game five of the second Stanley Cup playoff round. Plans also included getting shitfaced and collapsing into an unconscious heap on a park bench somewhere.

 

It’s all apparently part of growing up. Of which Bitty and his fellow juniors, Chowder, Dex and Nursey (yes, _all_ hockey nicknames), are in desperate need of before Shitty leaves them in the lurch and pisses off to Harvard to be a big fancy lawyer (‘Fuck you, Bitty, I’m going to be fucking, _Daredevil_ , not some pompous, stuffed shirt, dick head corporate lawyer). Graduation is in a week and Bitty is trying not to dwell on the idea of a Shitty-less house. Lardo, team manager and cutest gosh-darn bamf imaginable, is leaning up against Bitty, long fringe swept back with a mixture of sweat and beer, ready to sit out the next song in favour of more alcohol and some rest for her feet. She’ll be heading out to Boston with Shitty once they graduate and Bitty has spent too much time crying about it already. Tonight is about having fun. It’s about enjoying the time they have. And it’s about giving Bitty an opportunity to forget about crappy ex-boyfriends who might use his big heart and underdeveloped sense of emotional self-preservation to take what they want and then literally _fuck a lax bro._

 

Bitty would be as heartbroken as everyone thinks he is, if he hadn’t already realised that he was not, in fact, totally invested in the relationship, and hadn’t been for a while. Once the shine of having a real live boyfriend had worn off, Bitty had started to notice little things, like Hunter passive-aggressively implying that Bitty should maybe tone down his Georgian accent, that perhaps he should invest in some longer shorts, or that he might be better off spending less time baking for the team and more time baking for Hunter. By the time the Lacrosse boys had gleefully posted pictures of Hunter and their goalie in a (somewhat impressively) compromising position, he was sort of glad to have an excuse to be rid of him. It was still humiliating, though, to be so publicly cheated on.

 

Bitty shakes off the memories in favor of making new ones, squeezing his way up to the bar to grab drinks for himself and Lardo. On his way through he gets elbowed and, backing up, manages to step on the foot of someone behind him. He spins around, hand reaching out to grip that someone’s forearm and apologise profusely,

    ‘Oh my, I’m so sorry, sugar! You o-’ by the time he’s turned all the way around, he can see that his hand is resting on the ridiculously muscular arm of the unattainably beautiful man he had watched single-handedly crush the Rangers earlier that night, ‘-kay?’ he finishes a little meeker. The man looks down at Bitty’s hand on his arm, looks down at his feet (Bitty in his white Keds and this man in garishly yellow sneakers {how did they let him in here in those? Oh right, he’s number one Falconer, Jack Zimmermann…}) and then up at Bitty’s face and breaks out in a giant grin. Which, hang on, isn’t Jack Zimmermann meant to be an emotionless robot?

    ‘I think my feet can take it,’ he says with a laugh, and it’s all Bitty can do to not swoon right there on the spot. His beautifully cut upper body is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt and his thick thighs barely encased in a pair of - what Bitty assumes - are ridiculously expensive dark-wash jeans. His faint accent is noticeable in the way he pronounces the ‘think’ (theenk) and the ‘it’ (eet).

 

Just as he realises his hand is still gripping Jack Zimmermann’s arm and is wondering how his brain can convince his fingers to let go, he gets knocked again from behind and pushed right up into Jack’s chest. His fingers release only to free both hands to break his fall, hands that then land palm down on Jack’s rock-hard pectorals, his whole body basically pressed flush up against Jack’s and his nose buried between his collar bones.

    ‘Uhh…’ He looks up at Jack, blushing furiously, ‘I...I am _so_ sorry,’ he whispers.

‘Are _you_ okay?’ Jack asks, lifting his hands to wrap them around Bitty’s biceps and give them a squeeze, presumably an extension of his concern. ‘Huh,’ he adds, squeezing Bitty again.

‘Huh?’ Bitty asks. The feel of Jack Zimmermann’s hands around his arms is shooting thrilling little jolts of electricity through him. It’s very distracting.

‘Ah, I wasn’t expecting to find so much muscle here…’ Jack says, and Bitty doesn’t know Jack beyond ESPN articles and asshole commentators, but his eyebrows are raised, ice-blue eyes wide and pink lips skewed, he looks and sounds impressed. Bitty is now sure he has stepped into some kind of alternate universe.

‘Well, I mean, I’m on an athletic scholarship, so I need to keep in shape…’

‘You are?’

‘Yes,’ Bitty replies with a little bite, just because he’s near a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than Jack Zimmermann (and most hockey players, let’s be honest), doesn’t mean he can’t be an accomplished athlete. ‘I’m on the Samwell men’s hockey team, I’ll have you know.’

    ‘You’re Eric Bittle!’

    ‘I...what?’

    ‘Winger for the Wellies, right? Scored the game winner in the Frozen Four last month?’

    ‘How?...ummm…’

    ‘I watched that game, your goalie had a shutout, your D-man, Pointdexter? He’s a contender, but you! I’ve never seen anyone so fast with such soft hands.’ Bitty is struck dumb. Can not find a word to say. ‘I showed our assistant manager tape of that game.’

    ‘I…’ Isn’t _Bitty_ supposed to be having a fanboy moment here? How did this turn around on him so quickly? How is Jack Zimmermann, NHL god, voted number one most fuckable player in the league, owner of the world’s most famous ass (except for Beyonce, because, Beyonce), gushing over Bitty’s game right now?

 

    It is, of course, at this moment, that Ransom and Holster (that’s correct, yet _more_ hockey nicknames) come barrelling over to grab Bitty out of Jack’s grasp and whisk him up to the bar.

    ‘It’s our last night out with you as seniors, Bitty!’ Ransom cries.

    ‘No time for fucking about, Bits! Time for drinking!’ Holster exaggerates his admonishment by digging his hand into Bitty’s perfectly coiffed blond hair and ruffling it beyond repair.

    ‘Get off’a me!’ Bitty shouts, incensed. ‘What have you done!’

    ‘What?’ Holster says, completely oblivious. Shitty is there at the bar, waiting for them and gives the senior D-men a look that could kill.

    ‘Way to cockblock our boy, fellas.’

    ‘What? Don’t be dumb, we just rescued him from being squashed in a sea of douchebags!’

    ‘You just dragged him away from the most glorious mother-fucking Canadian hockey player on the planet-’

‘Hey!’

‘-no offence Rans.’

‘Who’s that now?’ asks Holster, looking more angry than contrite, which Bitty thinks is a bit rich.

‘The one and only Jack Zimmermann.’ Shitty gestures out to the spot that Bitty and Jack had just been occupying off the dance floor.

‘Jack Zimmermann’s not gay.’ Holster says with a frown.

‘Sure about that Holtzy? He was just eyeing off our Itty Bits here, like he was the most exciting dessert on the menu.’

 

Bitty takes that information on board with some hesitation. Shitty can be a little over-the-top at times (understatement), but he is also fiercely protective of Bitty. Bitty’s pretty sure he would never steer him in the wrong direction. He reaches up on his toes to see over the heads of the crowd, searching for Jack’s shaggy dark brown hair and outrageously handsome face, only to find him, staring right back at Bitty. And Shitty is right, that boy looks _hungry._

 

‘Um, guys?’ Bitty interrupts their argument tentatively, ‘Uh, I think I’m… just gonna, go right on over there for a minute…’ and he walks away without looking back, before he’s even finished his sentence. He can hear Holster calling after him, but he has another week with his seniors before they graduate. And isn’t this night supposed to be about Bitty anyway? Isn’t he supposed to be drowning his sorrows? Well, Bitty can certainly get behind drowning himself in Jack Zimmermann. By the time he makes it back to Jack’s side, the man in question is looking at him with a mischievously wry grin.

‘Hockey Players?’ he asks. Bitty smiles and nods his head.

‘Yup, hockey players.’ He gives a little shrug, like there’s nothing to be done about them and Jack’s grin grows a little wider. ‘So I was thinking, um, maybe we could go somewhere a bit quieter,’ Bitty struggles to sound nonchalant rather than scared shitless, ‘and you could tell me a bit more about how great I am?’ Jack’s grin takes over his whole face, he chuckles and looks down at Bitty through half-lidded eyes.

‘Sure,’ and there is an actual blush creeping into Jack’s cheeks, ‘we could do that.’ Bitty suddenly feels fit to burst with a kind of power he’s _never_ felt before. Jack motions towards a darker corner of the club, then proceeds to wrap his hand around Bitty’s and lead him there. There are stairs that lead up to a mezzanine, beneath them is not exactly _private_ , but it’s tucked away and mostly out of sight and it’s much quieter. Jack tugs Bitty along all the way to the wall and pushes him a little less than gently against it.

‘Oof’

‘Sorry, sorry. You okay?’ Jack stammers. Bitty just laughs.

‘Yes, was a bit of a surprise is all,’ Bitty says with a smile.

‘I ah, may be a bit overzealous. Sorry about that,’ he says it with a shrug, shrinking into his shoulders, but Bitty reaches out to comfort him with a touch to his cheek.

‘It’s okay, honey. I’m not made of glass.’ Jack leans into Bitty’s palm and looks down at him with fond surprise.

‘Eric, I don’t… this feels so strange.’ He looks like _strange_ isn’t meant to be taken as an insult. But it seems a complicated adjective of choice.

‘In what way, sugar?’ Bitty keeps his voice soft. Doesn’t move his hand away. Jack is almost nuzzling into it now.

‘I don’t normally, I mean people don’t normally affect me like this. Does it feel strange to you?’

‘It feels exactly like I always thought it would feel to meet the most beautiful man on the planet.’ Jack closes his eyes and shakes his head at the praise, but Bitty can see the flush in his cheeks, the smile creeping up into the corners of his mouth, ‘that’s not even just my opinion, Jack Zimmermann, that is a bonafide title bestowed on you by the great people at Buzzfeed.’ Jack laughs and Bitty drinks it in. It’s soft, but so genuine. He’s never heard a laugh he liked better. ‘But I think I sort of know what you mean. I don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but you feel… comfortable, to me. Which I guess _is_ strange, seeing as how we just met.’

‘Right, _comfortable_ ,’ Jack says, like Bitty has just nailed it. ‘You feel... _safe_.’ Jack leans in ever closer and places a rather large hand along the curve of Bitty’s neck. ‘I think Buzzfeed might have got that wrong, you know. I guess they didn’t know about you.’ And Bitty could just about fall through the floor.

‘Mister Zimmermann, you charmer,’ he says with a shy smile, ducking his head. He looks up at Jack from beneath his long, dark lashes (Bitty may not have Jack’s _ass_ ets, but he knows what works for him). Jack’s face is so close now the air seems to be passing between them with a tangible undercurrent. It’s more intoxicating than any of the alcohol BItty had managed to consume tonight (which wasn’t as much as he had been aiming for, and he’s pretty glad for that now, honestly).

‘Eric,’

‘Mmm, I like the way you say that, Jack.’

‘Can I, would it be okay, if I kissed you?’ Bitty grins as the blood rushes to his cheeks, he turns his head up and lifts onto his toes so that Jack doesn’t have to duck too awkwardly.

‘I guess that would be okay,’ he replies, not waiting for Jack to lean in, but reaching up instead to press into Jack. To fit their lips together like pieces of a puzzle, open his mouth just enough to let Jack in, to let him take Bitty’s top lip between his own and pull at it, just a little. He tilts his head as he slides his free hand around Jack’s waist and Jack follows his lead, adding gentle pressure to the pull of the kiss, using his tongue to taste Bitty, smooth, easing their bodies together. Jack’s free hand snaking into Bitty’s mussed up hair to card his fingers through it, pleasure running through Bitty, a moan escaping into Jack’s open mouth at the overwhelming sensation of those fingertips. ‘Oh,  _fuck_ ,’ Bitty says, breathless, and Jack seems inclined to agree.

‘ _Mon dieu_ , Eric, _comment vous faites ça_?’ Bitty doesn’t understand a word of it (except his name of course) but it sounds so damn _hot_ , his hips just thrust up into Jack of their own volition. ‘ _Fuck!’._

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Bitty says, still just as breathless, only now also trying to hold himself still in Jack’s arms. ‘You ah, maybe shouldn’t do the French thing while we’re in public…’ and Jack just laughs, like he wasn’t expecting it, like he’s never known intimacy like this could also be funny. He leans back into Bitty, but keeps going, hooking his head over Bitty’s and pressing them along the length of each other. Jack’s lips are just above Bitty’s ear.

‘I’m about five seconds away from coming in my pants,’ he says quietly, ‘which is probably not a good idea.’ And Bitty can see the wisdom in taking a breather.

‘Are you… Should you, we, even be doing this here?’ Bitty asks, suddenly afraid that he might be getting Jack into trouble like this. That perhaps this is not a part of himself he likes to advertise.

‘Well, I mean. It might not be a good idea to just fuck you up against this wall,’ and Jack punctuates that thought with a little hip thrust of his own, ‘but as long as we keep it PG, it should be okay.’ He looks down at Bitty suddenly after that and follows with a concerned, ‘Are _you_ okay? With this, I mean?’

‘Yeah, but I’m _out_ , you know, so… but you… do you… Is it okay for you to be seen. With me?’ Bitty asks, his voice losing volume all the way to a whisper at the end. Jack looks at him, takes a step back and really looks at him for a moment before answering.

‘I'm _out_ enough that it would only be a surprise to people that I don’t care about. I just never met anyone that made it worth taking it that bit further.’ Jack cards his fingers through Bitty’s hair and Bitty has to close his eyes to the words and the feeling. ‘But you're different, Eric. For you, I would tell _everybody_.’ Bitty’s little heart beats dangerously fast.

‘Jack, you don’t even know me.’

‘I was watching you dancing, and I suddenly got it…’

‘Got what?’

‘What the guys mean when they’re all mooning over a celebrity, or what Tater meant when he met his wife for the first time and said he’d found the one-’

‘Lord, Jack, you are just all or nothing aren’t ya.’

‘But I’ve never felt that before Eric,’ he says, eyes alight, ‘I thought maybe it was another way I was different from everybody else, but it’s you.’

‘Jack,’

‘I just hadn’t met you yet.’

‘Jack, wait-’ Bitty needs a minute to pull himself together. Jack has basically just stepped out of Bitty’s fantasies and into his life and it’s terrifying. And Jack looks worried, perhaps thinking he’s scared Bitty away (which, umm, as if).

‘Oh, _Crisse_ , I’m fucking this up already-’

‘No, no, Jack. That’s not what I mean, I just mean, you know, apart from my sexy slap shot and some dance moves, you don’t really know anything about me, you could spend two days with me and think I’m the most annoying guy you’ve ever met.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ Jack says, shaking his head.

‘I stress bake apple pies like you wouldn’t believe.’

‘I love apple pie.’

‘I sing super loud in the shower.’

‘I bet you have a beautiful voice.’

‘I have this ridiculous accent!’

‘Eric, I love your accent,’ Jack is smiling again and Bitty has to fight to keep the responding joy out of his inflection.

‘I wear indecently short shorts around the house, _all the time_.’

‘How could that _possibly_ be a bad thing.’ Jack actually looks incredulous at this, like it’s absolutely unbelievable to him that that could be something to complain about. And Bitty, lord help him, Bitty is falling a bit more in love every second he stands here.

‘Ja-ack,’ Bitty injects as much drawl into the word as he can and rests his hands again on the rock solid plane of Jack’s chest, ‘can you trust that I’ve had bad experiences with people gettin’ sick of me in the past. I don’t want to just throw myself under a bus again here.’ Bitty knows he’s probably pouting, but hey, it’s a good look on him.

‘How about this then,’ Jack says, peering down into Bitty’s eyes with the cutest puppy dog expression Bitty’s ever seen (and is powerless to resist), ‘we date.’

‘We date?’

‘We date, like normal people, take it as slow as you like. And I bet you my Stanley Cup championship ring that we, this,’ he gestures between himself and Bitty with a pointed finger, ‘is meant to be.’

‘Jesus, Jack.’

‘What? Too much?’ Bitty is trying really hard not to laugh.

‘How about we make it like, five dollars.’ Jack just shakes his head at the suggestion.

‘Nope, how about...apple pie?’

‘My apple pie?’

‘Right. Homemade apple pie. If you win, and it doesn’t work out, I have to make you an apple pie from scratch.’ Bitty can’t contain his laughter, that image is so ridiculous, Jack baking Bitty a consolation pie because he’s too overwhelmed by Bitty’s seven o’clock renditions of peppy pop songs. ‘And if I win, and we are perfect together, then you owe me one homemade apple pie.’ Bitty is shaking his head because Jack is utterly clueless as to how many pies Bitty will be baking between now and the end of the bet. What difference could one more possibly make?

 

The moment is totally surreal. Bitty is standing in the near dark, looking up into the face of arguably the most famous, certainly the most accomplished, definitely the most attractive professional hockey player in the world right now, who is looking down at Bitty like he is a prize and Jack has just won, in the back corner of the seediest club in Providence. His team is probably looking for him. His phone has been buzzing away in his pocket for ages and he is studiously ignoring it. He is about to accept the terms of a bet that will have Bitty dating said hockey star for an indeterminate period of time, at the end of which, he will either have: found the love of his life, or, yet more evidence that he is a terrible boyfriend and a homemade apple pie that will be worth (literally) thousands of dollars on Ebay. Bitty clears his throat, licks his lips and takes a deep breath in,

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?!’ Jack’s grin is small but intense; it crinkles his nose and sets his ice-blue eyes on fire.

‘I’ll give you three months. After that, it’s pie, or its happily ever after.’ He says it as a joke, but Jack just runs with it.

‘You’re on, Bud. Three months and you’re mine.’ And he seals the deal with the hottest, deepest kiss that Bitty has ever received in his lifetime.

Sweet baby Jesus, what has he gotten himself into?

 

   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am writing the sequel to It's Cosmic, but this AU kind of smacked me in the face in the middle of the night. 
> 
> So...
> 
> Enjoy ❤


	2. So, they date...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty make a move into the whole 'dating' thing...

Bitty manages to extricate himself from Jack. They exchange numbers, kiss softly, and speak quiet goodbyes. He has to walk away facing steadfastly forward, lest he be sucked back into Jack’s super-human gravitational pull. It’s late, really late now, and Bitty needs to get back to the boys and Lardo before they send out a search party.

    ‘Bits!’ Shitty comes crashing down on Bitty and holds him at arm's length with hands locked onto Bitty’s shoulders. ‘Did you just make-the-fuck out with _Jack fucking Zimmermann_!’ He whisper shouts the exclamation into the space between them, aware that he should not be advertising the fact to the whole club.

    ‘Shitty Knight!’ Bitty admonishes, breaking Shitty’s hold and latching onto his elbow to drag him through the throng of dancers and drinkers and back to the booth that Lardo and Dex have appropriated in the corner.  ‘Hush your mouth.’

    ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Shitty mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key. Bitty just rolls his eyes and scoffs at the sentiment. Shitty couldn’t keep his mouth shut if the Stanley Cup depended on it. Which is confirmed when he opens it again to whisper, ‘But, fucking christ, Bitty, what just happened?’

    ‘Uhh…’ Bitty can't think of a way to explain. Which is a problem. Because if he and Jack are now, well, _dating_ , people are probably going to find out. Like, maybe a lot of people. Like, potentially _every single person on the face of the planet._ ‘Oh shit.’

    ‘Bitty?’

    ‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.’ Bitty takes short breaths and tries to keep it together.

    ‘Brah, what the fuck? Are you okay?’ Shitty looks concerned and tries to catch a glimpse of something over the heads of the crowd.

    ‘I’ll have to tell my parents.’ Shitty abandons his search and turns to Bitty, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘About Jack.’

    ‘About Zimmermann? Don’t they already know about him? I mean, isn’t your mom like a major Bad Bob groupie?’ Bitty’s eyes widen and he takes a half step back from Shitty in outrage. Because _ew_.

    ‘That is _not_ what I mean.’ He uses Shitty’s whisper shout technique. It’s strangely satisfying. ‘I’m going to have to tell them that we’re… _dating_.’ He has to force that word out like a cough. His sigh is resigned, head falling into his hands. ‘So I’m definitely going to have to tell them that I’m gay.’

   

They’ve finally squeezed through the press of bodies to their booth, but Shitty holds Bitty back from lowering himself into the cracked vinyl seat.

‘Bits,’ he says, a hand on Bitty’s elbow.

    ‘Shitty.’

    ‘Say that again?’

    ‘I have to come out to my parents.’

    ‘Not that, the first bit.’ Oh.

    ‘Oh. The bit where Jack and I are dating?’ Shitty is shaking his head in disbelief.

    ‘The bit where you and the leading NHL point scorer for three years running are “dating”, yes. The bit where you and mister hockey robot over there, who, as far as I know, you’ve never met before tonight, are “dating”. What the fuck, Bits?’ Shitty is trying to be formidable and protective, but he’s too much of a teddy bear for Bitty to feel the effect.

    ‘So… okay. Just hear me out-’ Bitty throws a hand up to ward off whatever Shitty was about to interrupt with. He can see that Lardo and Dex are staring at them in rapt attention, ‘-yes, it’s true that we just met. Yes-’ he pushes that hand out emphatically to shut down the next interruption, ‘-he is a professional hockey player. And I understand that this is kinda crazy. _But_ , we’re going to take it slow, and I’m going to be really careful, _and_ I’m sorry, Shitty, but have you seen that man? You would _shave your moustache_ for a chance to wake up to that perfection.’ He can tell he’s got Shitty by the thoughtful twitch of said glorious moustache.

    ‘Okay, I’ll give you that, and look, I can understand you sneaking up under the stairwell and getting hold of that sweet Zimmermann ass-’

    ‘Hey!’

‘-and what, you exchanged numbers?’ Bitty nods, a scowl on his face, because Shitty has in one conversation managed to both, spotlight his mother’s inappropriate crush on his new boyfriend’s famous father, _and_ relegate said boyfriend to a mere ‘piece of ass’.

    ‘Shitty, listen-’

    ‘Eric, brah,’ Shitty _never_ calls him Eric, ‘Getting the guy’s number doesn’t mean you’re dating.’

    ‘Harsh, Shitty,’ Lardo interjects from her spot on the sidelines, ‘you don't know that.’

    ‘I don’t owe you an explanation about how I know I’m dating someone, Shitty. It might be unconventional, but can you please trust that I’m not as stupid as I look.’

    ‘Bitty, that’s not what I meant.’

    ‘You’re ruining my good mood, Shitty Knight. How about we drop it. And when I want your advice, I will ask for it, mister.’ Shitty agrees, but he’s tight lipped. Bitty resigns himself to many more conversations like this in the near future. How do you explain the intense physical and emotional attraction that he and Jack had shared almost instantly. Love at first sight? People will think he’s a star struck fanatic. Pheromones? It’s basically impossible to smell anything but cheap vodka and the accumulation of weeks of stale sweat in this club. Infatuation? Well, that’s what everyone’s going to think it is, on Bitty’s behalf anyway. Though once they see Jack with him, they might change their minds… the look on that boy’s face. It has Bitty blushing just thinking about it.

 

    ‘Well I’m not surprised that Jack locked onto you, Bitty,’ Dex says with affection, ‘you’re like a smaller, hotter, Kent Parson.’ Bitty huffs a laugh at the comparison and tries to disagree.

    ‘I can see that,’ Lardo says with a thoughtful little nod, ‘definitely a _sweeter_ version.’ Bitty is red as a beet now. There’s not many hockey fans out there that don’t remember the rumours  about Parse and Zimmermann’s time in Juniors together. And further speculation (potentially that of the gossip sites that Bitty _super_ rarely trolled through, promise) had cited Kent as the reason behind Jack’s overdose, subsequently missing the draft and then joining the Falcs two years later as a free agent.

    ‘Guys, can we just, like, lay off talking about this for a while? I don’t want to get Jack any more attention than he needs, you know?’ They all agreed, partly because no true Falcs fan would want to hurt their star player, but more importantly because everyone at the table was aware of the media shit storm Jack faced on a regular basis, and none of them wanted to add fuel to that fire.

 

    It really _was_ late, so Shitty and Lardo began rounding up the boys, Bitty happy to be a holding post for a tipsy Chowder as he chattered away, zoning out into imagining Jack at home by now, maybe stepping out of the shower. He wondered if Jack slept in pyjamas. He wondered if Jack’s bed was enormous and softly dressed in Falconers colours. He wondered if Jack would touch himself thinking of Bitty as he lay amongst all that comfortable bedding, in thin cotton pants…

    ‘Bitty!’ Chowder was shaking him now and he reached back into reality to find Chowder’s concerned face staring down at him. ‘You with me?’

    ‘Yes, honey, I’m right here.’

    ‘Your phone’s ringing…’

    ‘Oh my gosh!’ Bitty wrestles his cell out of his back pocket and his heart hiccups. It’s Jack. Bitty looks up at Chowder in Panic. And then remembers that he doesn’t have to panic. Because this is now just a regular ol’, normal turn of events for Bitty. Jack Zimmermann calls him on the phone. Jack Zimmermann, his boyfriend. And oh, yeah, he should probably answer.

 

    ‘Hello? Jack?’

    ‘Eric.’ God, just the way Jack says his name has Eric wanting _things_.

    ‘Hey.’ Chowder’s eyebrows have escalated even further than normal at the fondness inherent in Bitty’s tone.

‘So I wondered if you’re free tomorrow?’ Jack sounds nervous, ‘Only, I have to be in Tampa for the eastern conference finals by Thursday, so I want to get as much Eric time as I can. Need to make my mark on you.’ Bitty takes a sharp breath in at the visual image attached to Jack’s statement and Jack is quick to clarify, ‘Fuck, I meant, you know, metaphorically.’ It’s sweet, how flustered he sounds. ‘Sorry.’

    ‘Oh, of course Jack. Gosh, of course you have the next playoff round next week,’ Bitty says, pushing aside his reaction to the _marking_ and focusing instead on the impressive and exciting fact that Jack and his team are about to embark on the third Stanley Cup playoff round.

    ‘Yeah, but not ‘til Thursday.’ _Not ‘til Thursday_ , like it’s no big thing, ‘I’ve got such a little window of opportunity, I need to grab you where I can,’ he chuckles at his own innuendo. ‘How about breakfast? Maybe you could wear some of those short shorts you mentioned?’ He can almost see the shine in Jack’s eyes and scoffs at the salaciousness.

    ‘I’ll see what I can find in my bag, sweetpea.’ Bitty’s smile is small but his cheeks are pink, nose scrunched, and he can feel the sharp poke of Chowder’s fingers in his ribs, no doubt trying to wheedle information. Bitty is slapping at his hands with (fond) irritation while he finalises a time and place with Jack for their first _date_. He’s so preoccupied with happiness that he just smiles at the way the floor sticks to his shoes as Shitty, Rans and Holster gather them up and shepherd them out the door and to the hostel.

 

***

 

Bitty wakes up to Lardo snuggling into him on the single, bottom bunk they shared last night (they, together, make up the size of the average team member) and his phone vibrating an alarm at him. It’s entitled, ‘Get the fuck ready for your date, Bits’, so Lardo must have set it for him before they crashed last night into the questionable pillows. He attributes how good he is feeling to the lack of alcohol he consumed, _and_ to the fact that he is clearly the winner of some crazy karmic lottery. He is about to go on a date with a beautiful boy who tried to bet his _Stanley Cup_ _Championship_ _Ring_ that Bitty would turn out to be the love of his life. Which, okay, yes _creepy_ , but also, ROMANTIC! So now Bitty just has to prove whether all his apparent ‘shortcomings’ are, in fact, as irresistible as Jack had professed them to be.

 

True to his word, Bitty rifles through his bag and finds a pair of very short Samwell red shorts, scooped white tee-shirt and a heather grey hooded sweater to keep out the morning chill and complement his tanned skin and blond hair. He throws his Keds on and heads down to the communal bathroom to shower, moisturise, dress and coif his hair as best he can. By the time he gets back to the room, the seniors have surfaced (the frogs are still comatose) and he gets a low whistle from Holster.

‘Where are you off to, looking so adorable, Itty Bits?’ Ransom asks with a yawn. Shitty looks over at him with exaggerated disapproval and Bitty is in such a good mood he only finds the drama endearing.

‘I’m having breakfast with Jack. He’s gonna drop me back to campus so y’all can go on without me’

‘You’re having breakfast with Jack?’ Holster asks, incredulous, ‘Jack Zimmermann?’ Bitty nods with feigned patience. How many times is he going to have to go through this with his own team?

‘Pics or it didn't happen!’ Ransom pipes in good naturedly, slapping Bitty jovially on the back and giving his neck a little squeeze.

‘Well, he might be a grumpy bastard, but at least we can say he’s got good taste.’

‘Thanks Holtzy,’ Bitty says, touched.

‘Just be careful, you crazy little mother-fucker.’ Bitty rolls his eyes at Shitty, but accepts a hug all the same. Lardo comes back in from her shower with steaming coffee in a chipped mug and the rich, roasted scent inspires a mass exodus to the kitchen. She gives Bitty’s cheek a pat and smiles.

‘Go get ‘im, tiger,’

 

‘Wow.’ Jack is already out the front of the cafe by the time Bitty gets there to meet him and his jaw has just about hit the ground at the sight of Bitty in his booty shorts.

‘Morning, Jack,’ Bitty says, reaching up to kiss a fashionably stubbled cheek.

‘Eric, wow.’ Jack looks Bitty up and down with wide-eyed wonder.

‘Did I break you, Mister Zimmermann?’ Bitty asks, turning away from Jack and jutting his hip, just a fraction.

‘I’m not sure I was prepared for these shorts, Eric,’ Jack rakes a hand down his face. ‘Let’s… yeah, let's go sit down.’

‘Okay Jack,’ Bitty says with a chuckle, making sure to duck ahead to give Jack an eyeful. He’s never been so grateful for the intense conditioning his coaches put him through daily.

 

When they get inside, Jack pulls Bitty into a booth and all but squashes him into the corner. It’s ten o’clock on a Monday morning so there are plenty of people, but most of them are lining up to take their coffees to go. The tables are empty for the most part, and no one is paying much attention to Bitty and Jack. Jack traces his calloused fingertips up Bitty’s thigh and stops at the hem of his shorts.

‘I have to admit, I wasn’t really expecting you to wear these today.’

‘Well you should know, Jack, that I am a people pleaser. So if you ask for something, I’ll do just about everything I can to make it happen.’ He looks up at Jack and tries to will the flush out of his cheeks.

‘I’ll make sure I remember not to abuse my power then, Bittle.’ He leans down to place his head in the crook of Bitty’s neck and shoulder. ‘God, you smell good. You smell like...Christmas.’ Bitty laughs and tucks his cheek into his shoulder, bringing Jack’s face close into his own.

‘I spent all day baking before we left for Providence yesterday. It just, I don’t know, ingrains itself into my hair I think.’

‘What were you baking?’ Jack pulls back to sit up again, but keeps an arm draped across the seat behind Bitty.

‘Graduation cookies for the seniors. They have their ceremony next Monday. I’m a bit sad about it, to tell the truth.’ The waitress interrupts Bitty’s musing to take their order with a second look back at Jack as she leaves. It’s not an ‘I'm scoping out a hot guy’ look, it’s an ‘I think Jack Zimmermann is on a date with a boy’ look. Bitty checks Jack’s reaction to see if he noticed, but Jack has his gaze fixed to Bitty.

‘It’s okay, Eric,’ he says with a soft smile, ‘everyone’s going to find out eventually.’ Bitty understands what an enormous step that would be for Jack to undertake and feels afraid for the first time since he had been accidentally knocked into Jack’s orbit last night. For both of them

‘I um, I should also probably tell you that I’m going to need to come out to my parents. Preferably before all of this blows up in the media.’ Jack looks at Bitty, confused.

‘You’re not already out? I thought you said-’

    ‘Oh, I am, to everybody but the folks back home in Georgia. I guess I’m… just not looking forward to that…’ Jack looks stricken and Bitty is quick to kiss the frown away. ‘It’s well past time, honey, don’t you be thinking this is a bad thing. Okay?’ Jack nods, ‘I needed a bit of a kick in the pants to get it over with, that’s all.’ Bitty is also positive his parents are well aware of his sexuality and have simply been implementing a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy in the interests of their stiflingly conservative neighbourhood. He switches to a safer topic. ‘So, Tampa on Thursday, huh?’

    ‘Yeah, first game’s on Friday.’

    ‘And how’re you feeling about it?’

    ‘Honestly? Anxious. Like always.’ Some of the light leaves Jack’s eyes at that and Bitty reaches for his hand under the table, still resting on Bitty’s bare thigh.

    ‘You get anxious a lot, huh?’ Jack nods and forces his gaze back up to Bitty’s. ‘Does it… is it a problem? For you?’ Jack keeps nodding.

    ‘Yeah.’

    ‘Can I help somehow?’

    ‘You are helping,’ Jack says, ‘but I guess, just, be patient with me when I seem irritable or withdrawn? It usually means my anxiety is kicking my ass.’ Bitty gives Jack his most charming smile (he hopes) and squeezes Jack’s hand.

    ‘I can do that.’

 

    Their food arrives and Bitty is already on his second coffee. Jack settles into his egg white omelette but eyes Bitty’s chocolate chip pancakes warily.

    ‘You should probably eat more protein, Bittle.’ Bitty near chokes on his first mouthful. ‘Sorry, sorry! I meant... never mind.’ Bitty raises his eyebrow in challenge.

    ‘You are not _my_ captain, Mister Zimmermann. How ‘bout you let me eat what I want to eat?’ Jack ducks his head, chastised.

    ‘ _Absolument_ ,’ he says and Bitty has to suppress his shiver.

    ‘And what did I say about the French,’ he admonishes, though Jack looks anything but admonished.

    ‘ _Désolé, je ne peux pas résister_ ’ Bitty guesses he means something like, he couldn’t resist, and it’s cheeky and so darn sexy, he can’t even be mad. He can, and is, however, getting embarrassingly turned on.

    ‘Jack, that’s so unfair,’ he whines, certainly not pouting on purpose. Jack shakes his head.

    ‘Just leveling things up Eric, you showing up in these tiny shorts was _extrêmement_ _injuste.’_ He punctuates that sentiment by slipping his fingers up under the hem of Bitty’s shorts. It feels so good, Bitty can’t stop his body from responding. Which just encourages Jack to slide them further until he reaches the elastic of Bitty’s briefs. And doesn’t stop there.

‘Jack, oh, Jack. You have to sto-’ Bitty’s back arches and his breath is shallow, ‘you have to stop.’ He’s trying to be commanding, but it’s barely a whisper, and Jack seems far from intimidated. He does slip his hand back out from the leg of Bitty’s shorts, though, and traces it down to his knee instead, giving it a squeeze when he gets there.

‘Sorry,’ he says, not looking sorry at all, ‘we’ll save that for next time.’

 

The rest of their breakfast passes with less touching and more talking.  Bitty’s just glad he managed not to tarnish his zero ‘public ejaculation’ record (Shitty is at one, all defenceman sit at two and Chowder is in the lead on four - that boy is just far too excitable) before they got a handle on themselves. Jack pays the check without discussion and leads Bitty back to his car - a shiny, navy blue Lincoln SUV - and opens the door for him to climb in. The team had kindly agreed to take his duffle home with them, so he isn’t carrying anything but his phone and his wallet (in the pocket of his hoodie).

‘You sure you don’t mind driving me, Jack?’ Bitty asks, not for the first time, ‘it’s so far out of your way.’

‘It’s good actually, Eric. I get to see where you live, and practice the drive out here.’ He blushes when he next says, ‘I was thinking I could maybe come out again and visit you tomorrow?’

‘Yeah?’ Bitty asks, smile wide.

‘Yeah, after practice? In the afternoon?’

‘Oh yes! Jack, I can make you dinner. Do you, I mean, would you like to meet some of the rest of the team?’

‘Sure,’ he agreed with a congenial shrug, ‘if they want to meet me.’ Bitty rolls his eyes.

‘They might, you know, _not_ make it awkward by fanboying all over you. But I make no guarantees.’ Jack huffs a laugh. ‘Lardo will be cool though, that I _can_ guarantee.’

‘And Lardo is?’

‘She’s our team manager. Hands down, most unaffected person you will ever meet.’

‘Cool.’

‘Very.’ Bitty says with a smile. They go on like that, talking about the Samwell team (most of whom Jack is already familiar with, from interest’s sake), until they pull up outside the old frat house and Jack turns off the ignition.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow.’ Bitty reaches across the console, using his hands for purchase, and lifts to press his lips against Jack’s. Jack leans in to meet him, circling his large hand around Bitty’s neck and stroking his thumb against Bitty’s cheek. They fit together so beautifully, Bitty doesn’t want to ever pull away. Their noses brush together, tongues briefly glancing across each other, Bitty’s top lip caught between Jack’s and nipping back gently as their mouths push and pull in a dance. Bitty reaches further into Jack’s space, chasing the taste of him, managing to climb over the centre console to straddle Jack’s hips, the angle changing, intensifying, until his elbow collides with the horn and they both jump apart at the shockingly loud beep. Bitty groans as he catches Shitty watching them from the steps of the front porch.

‘I’d better let you go,’ Jack says, and Bitty isn’t proud of the whimper that escapes his throat. It doesn’t seem to bother Jack though. The opposite actually, it has him lunging toward Bitty to chase the sound. ‘ _Crisse,_ ’ he says, finally breaking away, ‘You are going to be so much trouble.’

‘Good trouble?’ Bitty twists his fists into Jack’s black tee-shirt.

‘The best,’ he says, leaning his forehead between Bitty’s collar bones and breathing deep. ‘Mmm, like Christmas.’

‘ _This boy,_ ’ Bitty chirps under his breath, pressing in for one last kiss before extricating himself from Jack’s lap and climbing out the passenger door. ‘Tomorrow,’ he calls through the now open window, ‘text me when you’re on your way.’

‘I will,’ Jack calls back, ‘and probably before.’ Bitty blushes and burrows his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

‘Well, I look forward to that.’

 

They both smile like fools and wave and wave as Jack drives away. Shitty hops down from the steps and meets Bitty on the front lawn.

‘Fuck, son, you are so fucking screwed.’

‘Not yet, Shitty,’ Bitty says, with a pat to Shitty’s shoulder as he passes him by, ‘but I’m working on it.’

  
  


   

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably, actually a whole bunch more than just 4 chapters now folks.
> 
> This is a wip...
> 
> But fear not. I have a plan! 
> 
> Let me know what you're thinking ❤


	3. Jack meets the team...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally beta'd, thank you Jujubeans for all your amazing work. And always at the super last minute.
> 
> I am the literal worst ;)

True to his word, Jack texts him an hour later. And then again before he goes to bed. Cute texts, not egregiously romantic, but sweet in a way that Bitty didn’t realise would be so affecting.

 

Monday 1:45pm

**Received:** Hey, is it weird that I feel emotionally connected to my GPS? It just asked if I wanted to add your place as a favourite destination, and now I’m thinking; finally, someone ‘gets me’. 

 

**Sent:** omg, honey, you are ridiculous. Why am I laughing?

**Sent:** and *blushing*…

**Sent:** Ok, just asked the boys about dinner and they are: excited/ nervous/ dubious in equal measure

**Sent:** except for Chowder, who’s just 100% excited.

**Sent:** but that’s his only setting, so… *shrugs*

**Sent:** Sorry for all the messages. Ah, I realise I can be a bit much… sorry

 

**Received:** Don’t be sorry, I like it. Feels like I’m still there, talking to you.

**Received:** I like talking to you.

 

**Sent:** That’s sweet. But if it gets too much, well, I guess that’s what this is all about right? All of me, All of you, All in? Judge the fallout…

 

**Received:** I’m right here with you Eric, All in.

 

Monday 8:50pm

**Received:** Your shorts are haunting me.

 

**Sent:** lol. Sorry about that. I kind of can’t believe I did that, those are actually the shorts I brought to sleep in… came in handy though I guess.

 

**Received:** Very nearly, yes.

 

**Sent:** That was  _ not a pun _

**Sent:** Lord *blushes*

 

**Received:** Still true.

**Received:** I can’t believe you thought they would be a drawback.

**Received:** I challenge anyone to see you in those shorts and not want to date you.

 

**Sent:** Umm… Mr Zimmermann. Can I keep you?

 

**Received:** That’s the plan, Bittle. 

  
  


Bitty reads and rereads the thread as he gets into bed. He has no classes and no packing, so tomorrow is going to be spent cleaning, baking and trying to convince the boys not to chirp Jack or embarrass the heck out of anyone (namely, Bitty). Yes, he does realise the probability of that is slim to none. Bitty also understands that he and Jack have known each other for a total of two days now, not nearly enough to justify feeling this giddy. But he does. And he isn’t even worried, because it just feels... good. He is grinning like a lunatic, staring at words on a screen that have managed to grip Bitty in a way that no aspect of his relationship with Hunter ever had. 

 

That thought is actually a little sobering. For all that Hunter had been a questionable boyfriend, Bitty had been questionable right back. If Bitty is being honest with himself (and he wasn’t, at the time) Hunter had always felt like a placeholder to Bitty. And though, yes, he  _ had _ constantly (subtly) suggested that Bitty needed to ‘be better’, ‘grow up’, ‘take life seriously’, Bitty had kept the most real parts of himself closed off to Hunter. He was a shell of himself (a happy, non-confrontational, perky shell), because he never felt like Hunter deserved to know him better than that. No wonder it had all blown up in his face. 

 

He falls asleep in the middle of his menu planning, and wakes to the thought that he has no idea what Jack Zimmermann might actually like to eat. Or even what he  _ can  _ eat. Is he allergic to anything? Intolerant? On a strict nutritional plan? Of the last, Bitty has no doubt. He researches how to feed elite athletes and it doesn’t leave him with a huge amount of options. He also texts Jack and asks about allergies, etcetera. Jack texts back, there are none, and stipulates that little effort should be made, and instead, according to Jack, Bitty should relax and enjoy his last days with the boys (fat chance. Bitty can relax like a toddler can solve quadratic equations). 

 

After much trawling through recipe ideas, Bitty decides on a Thai squash, chicken and pineapple curry, inspired by the warming weather and to use the new red Thai curry paste recipe one of his blog followers had sent him last month. At least it will have flavour (there was so much broiled chicken in that google search, dear Lord) and hopefully give Bitty some indication of Jack’s spice tolerance level, cultural enthusiasm and (mildly) adventurous food tendencies.

 

Bitty also wonders how to start the inevitable conversation with his parents. They weren’t overly happy with him not coming home over the summer, but even his mama could appreciate that an internship in the digital marketing department of the Pawtucket Red Sox was worth the extra fees of staying in the hockey house over the summer. Like a bandaid, Bitty, just rip it off. A tentative hand is only gonna prolong the torture.

‘Mama.’

‘Dicky!’ Bitty winces at the nickname. He really hopes she’ll soon give up on it, considering the upcoming subject matter. 

‘Mama, please. I’m not twelve anymore. You know I’ve been legally allowed to drink for more than a whole week now.’

‘Oh hush, little Dicky-’ oh god, that’s so much worse, ‘-I was in labour with you for nearly three days, I can call you whatever I fancy.’ Bitty shakes his head, knowing it’s in vain. ‘Is everything okay though, darlin’? You need something before your job starts?’

‘Oh, no mama. I don’t need anything.’

‘Oh? You just called to talk to your mama?’ She does not believe that for a second. 

‘Yes and no.’ Bitty says, desperate not to lose his nerve. She simply clears her throat waiting for him to go on. ‘I uh, I wanted to tell you that I’m dating someone.’ There is no explosive exclamation of joy. There is a careful, calm draw of breath. When it comes, the response is as carefully measured.

‘Oh yes? And who are they, honey? If you feel like talking about it.’ The genderless pronoun, the understated interest sounds awfully rehearsed, and it probably is. Embers have caught hold of a heat in Bitty’s chest. Because why would his mama rehearse such a thing unless she was expecting it? Unless she was prepared to make an effort to reciprocate a dialogue? His fingers clench around the phone, though it’s slippery with sweat. His other hand is twisted cruelly in his bed spread. He coughs to dislodge the heart in his throat.

‘Actually, funny story…’ there’s nothing but laboured breathing coming through the line, ‘I met ah, well I met… You remember Bad Bob Zimmermann right?’

‘Eric Richard Bittle, there best be a point to this story that you are about to get to.’ His mama doesn’t like to be reminded of the way she had squealed at Shitty’s poster of Bad Bob in the living room during Bitty’s first family day.

‘Yes mama, well, see the thing is, I met his son, Jack Zimmermann-’ a loud clattering interrupts Bitty’s confession and he can hear the ruckus as Suzanne Bittle tries to recapture the phone she has clearly dropped.

‘Dicky! Eric! What?’ She says, distant at first and growing louder as her mouth gets back to the speaker. ‘You what?’

‘I met Jack Zimmermann.’

‘You  _ met him, _ met him?’ She asks, breathless. Bitty chants a mantra soundlessly: like a bandaid, rip it off, like a bandaid. 

‘Mama, we’re dating.’

‘You're dating. You're dating Jack Zimmermann.’

‘Yes, mama.’

‘Rick!’ She calls out, away from the mouthpiece. ‘Rick get in here!’ Bitty is so flustered, he can't tell whether his mother is angry or terrified. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, my son is datin’ a Zimmermann.’

‘Mama, I can’t tell what you’re thinking right now,’

‘Suzanne, what are you yelling about?’ Bitty can hear his father’s voice get closer to the phone and he panics. He always expected that of the two of them, Coach would be the least understanding, the most disappointed. The one to react in anger.

‘Dicky is datin’ a ZIMMERMANN!’ she says again, this time her words are punctuated with a slap Bitty can only assume has connected with Coach’s shoulder.

‘Which Zimmermann?’ he hears Coach ask. Bitty rolls his eyes. Honestly.

‘Well, of course,  _ Jack _ , honey. Which Zimmermann, bless your heart,’ his mama says, heavy on the sass. Bitty is having the most surreal experience of his life listening to his parents bicker about this, on one hand, panicked and overwhelmed by the enormity of what he’s doing, on the other, rolling his eyes at the total dorkification of this moment. 

‘Jack Zimmermann huh? MVP last year, leading point scorer, Art Ross winner? Good player that one.’ Coach says. Voice cutting in and out some as he navigates around his wife. Bitty’s brain is fritzing out, his vision blurs, he sits down on his bed in such a heap he near busts the springs. 

They don’t care. Well, of course they  _ care _ , they’re his parents and they care about him, but they don’t  _ mind.  _ They don’t mind that he’s dating a boy. They aren’t going to yell at him. They aren’t going to ask him to never come home. Five seconds ago Bitty was worried that his parents would never want to know about Jack, now he’s suddenly worried about how awfully his mama is going to embarrass him when she meets him. Oh god, what if she meets Bad Bob? He’s sat through so many accounts of how dreamy he was, how much of a crush his mama had, how excited she was about Bitty playing ice-hockey when he switched from figure skating. The situation is potentially dire. But Bitty’s musing is suddenly put on hold when he hears his dad’s voice on the line. 

‘Junior!’

‘Coach?’ Just the sound of his daddy’s voice instills the pavlovian response to straighten his posture, protrude his chest a little, but Bitty quashes it. He is who he is, he doesn’t have to be any more ‘manly’ than his personality allows. 

‘What’s this I hear about you and the Zimmermann boy?’

‘Everything you  _ have _ heard is all there is  _ to  _ hear, Coach,’ he says with a hint of exasperation. 

‘Mm hmm. Okay, son. You just remember to tell your mama and me if you need anything, you hear?’ His father says, gruff, but heartfelt. ‘Or if you wanna know something… or well… if you need talk about anything. Understand?’

‘Yeah, coach,’ Bitty says, struggling to hide the hitch in his breath, ‘I sure will.’

‘Alright then. You best hang up, your mama’s pitching a fit over here. Safer just to call back later.’

‘Thanks, dad.’

‘Oh and Eric?’

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Just ‘cause his name’s famous, don’t mean he’s better than you.’

‘He’s not like that, dad, I promise.’

‘Good, ‘cause your mother would tell you you’re worth ten of that boy.’

‘Yes, Coach,’ Bitty answers with a smile.

‘And I agree.’ Bitty has to bite into his fist to keep from sobbing. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine coming out would be like this. ‘We’re real proud of you, son.’

‘Thank you, dad. I better go. Tell mama I’ll call back later, okay?’

The sound of his father gently chirping his mama about Bad Bob comes through the speaker as coach hangs up the phone. Bitty lets himself sit in his room for another ten minutes while he cries it out and rights himself. He can digest this later. Right now he has a dinner to cook. 

  
  


*** 

  
  


Bitty enlists Dex to help him roll out and bake the naan bread and finishes off the raita while the rice cooks on the stove. The curry is simmering away in the dutch oven, gathering flavour and Chowder is setting the table. Bitty has been cleaning, prepping and cooking in this kitchen for a good two hours, and, checking and rechecking Jack’s text, knows he has fifteen minutes to run upstairs and get presentable. He needs five minutes to mousse and blast his hair with the blow dryer. Then five more minutes to change out of his blue gym shorts and yellow tank (it’s  _ hot _ in the kitchen) and into the appropriate skinny, navy chinos and blue, white and grey, plaid, checkered shirt waiting for him on his bedspread. An additional five minutes to spot clean any residual flour from his face and add a touch of aftershave. He has planned this time meticulously. 

 

Of course it’s all ruined when Jack Zimmermann arrives fifteen minutes early. Bitty unsuspectingly answers the door thinking it’s Nursey with the drinks and no free hands. It is not.

‘Jack! Oh my goodness!’ His hand is over his mouth and he’s fully aware (but unable to stop) the southern belle affectation he is adopting right now. Jack, for his part, sports a grin the size of Canada at Bitty’s dramatic reaction. ‘No! I’m not dressed yet, Jack!’

‘You look dressed to me, Bittle,’ Jack says, eyes cataloging the minutia of Bitty’s outfit appraisingly. 

‘I’m a mess!’ Bitty counterclaims, ringing his hands together, fully aware of the crazy nature of his hair and the dough under his fingernails. ‘But, oh! Come in, come in. Lord, I’m being a terrible host.’

Jack is dressed similarly to his outfit from the club. Dark jeans, a blue tee-shirt this time (goodness, that colour on him has Bitty blushing) and sneakers, blue to match his top. His cheeks are flushed and his hands flail a little, one ending up around the back of his neck, the other in his pocket.

‘Your accent…’ he says, but doesn’t elaborate. Bitty cocks his head to the side in question.

‘My accent?’

‘It gets very heavy when you… when you’re flustered.’ Cheeks aflame. ‘I like it.’

‘Well, that’s lucky for me, ‘cause I think that’ll be about eighty eight percent of the time that I’m around you, Mister Zimmermann.’ Jack laughs as Bitty leads him through the hallway, past the kitchen, (‘wow, Eric, it smells amazing.’), stops briefly at the living room to speed introduce him to Lardo, Shitty and Ransom, who look starstruck (Holster has yet to return from yesterday's extracurricular activities) and abandon him there while he rushes upstairs to get changed. Only to find Jack right behind him when he gets to his bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

‘Jack?’

‘Mm?’

‘I ah, I’m just going to get out of these,’ Bitty says, gesturing to his floury clothes by lifting the neckline of his tank between his fingers. 

‘I don’t mind.’ Good gravy, this boy.

‘Okay, well,’ Bitty is hapless under that puppy dog expression, ‘alright, come in and turn around.’ He grips Jack by the hand and drags him into the room, forcibly maneuvering him so that he faces the door once they get inside. ‘And no peeking.’ He can see the grin from the back of his head, it’s monstrous. ‘Eyes forward!’ Bitty cries as he kicks off his shorts and climbs into his pants - jumping a bit (lord, they are  _ skinny) _ , hurriedly discarding his tank and pulling the shirt up and over his biceps to settle on his shoulders and fasten at his chest. 

He has his back to Jack the whole time, but can feel the cheeky gaze on him, sure enough, spinning his head to find Jack side eyeing him from over his shoulder.

‘You cheated.’

‘Sorry,’ he says with an adorable little shrug.

‘The way you manage to apologise without looking one bit apologetic is very disconcerting.’ Bitty says, reminded of Jack’s wandering hands in the cafe. Of course that memory sends a little shiver through him, which doesn’t escape Jack, and his pupils are blown wide at the feedback loop that seems to be connecting them right now. Jack steps towards him without breaking eye contact and runs a finger down the buttons of Bitty’s shirt.

‘I like this,’ he whispers. Bitty has to close his eyes against the sensory overload. 

‘Jack, I…’ he swallows audibly and Jack tracks the bob of Bitty’s adam’s apple and the tongue that darts out to lick his lips. ‘I have to get back to the kitchen before Dex has a coronary.’

That seems to snap Jack out of his lust-drunk stupor. They have to remember that there are actual people in the house and actual dinner is on the stove and now is not a good time to get lost in the moment.

‘Right, right, lead the way.’ He allows Bitty to step out first and then follows him back downstairs.

 

Chowder, sweet summer child that he is, has set the table beautifully. Going so far as to put out the cloth napkins that Bitty’s mama gifted them at Christmas and the good glasses (they don’t all match, but none of them are chipped). 

‘Chowder, this looks real nice, honey, thank you.’ Chowder doesn’t acknowledge the compliment, and is instead staring open mouthed at Jack. ‘Ah, Chowder, this is Jack, Jack, honey, this is Chris Chow, our goalie.’ Jack for his part, doesn’t seem too perturbed by the silent adoration.

‘Chow, it’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve been watching your games for a while.’

‘You wha…?’

‘Yeah, six shutouts in one season? That’s impressive. How many offers’ve you had so far?’

‘Uh, um…’ Chowder shuffles his feet nervously before he finds the words he’s looking for, ‘yeah, a few. But I’m actually, umm, I’m going to San Jose for their training camp this summer.’ Bitty beams at Chowder with pride (Chowder’s sweet sensibilities instill a natural parental instinct in Bitty). The sharks have been Chowder’s team from infancy, so for him to have been invited to the summer camps in his Junior year is a pretty big deal. Jack, bless him, throws his fist out for a bump and Chowder near wets himself in nervous excitement when he returns it. ‘Bitty,’ he whispers, as Jack introduces himself to a wary looking Dex, ‘Jack Zimmermann just fist bumped me.’

 

A crash from the front door turns everyone’s head and Nursey stumbles in with three bottles of wine resting on a carton of craft beer. 

‘Oh Lord,’ Bitty races over to grab the wine as it rolls across the carton and manages to save the bottles before they reach the edge. Jack and Dex rush over to take the wine from Bitty and the carton from Nursey (respectively) and add them to the piles of food that are loaded on the kitchen bench. 

‘Okay!’ Bitty claps his hands together, ‘everyone at the table please.’ There's a mad scramble as everyone rushes to get the seats next to Jack, which is frustrating as all heck, because now Bitty will have to sit at the head of the table. Shitty saves the day by smacking Nurse in the back of the head from around Jack’s shoulders and giving him the eye until he cottons-on and moves down a seat so that there’s room for Bitty. 

‘Eric, this all looks amazing!’ Jack is watching the food hit the table with fascination. Lardo has started to dish rice into her bowl and add the curry and accompaniments, while Shitty pours her a glass of wine and eyes Jack suspiciously. The others are watching Shitty watch Jack with an expectation of drama. 

‘Our Eric  _ is _ pretty amazing,’ Shitty says, aiming for menacing but landing on petulant. Bitty takes the open seat next to Jack and pats a reassuring hand on his thigh. 

‘Pay no mind to Shitty, Jack, he thinks he’s being protective.’

‘Hey!’ Shitty’s moustache wriggles with the force of his consternation, ‘I  _ am _ being protective. Excuse me if I don’t automatically believe this man you hardly know, with a pretty sketchy history, has the best intentions.’

‘Shitty Knight. That is uncalled for.’

‘It’s okay, Eric, it’s nice you have good friends to look out for you.’

‘Yeah, I’m just saying, I know where you live, man. Okay, I don’t actually know where you live, but I know where you work! And if I hear one bad word from our Itty Bits here-’

‘Itty Bits?’ Jack mouths at Bitty, smirking all the while.

‘-no one's gonna find the body. Capiche?’

‘Capiche.’ Jack agrees. Though it’s sort of ruined by the smirk still sitting at the corners of his mouth. 

‘And…’ Chowder pipes up from his spot opposite Jack, ‘well… what Shitty said. You know. Goes for all of us.’ Bless his little heart.

‘I don’t know,’ Dex says, seated next to Chowder, food-ladened fork poised in mid air, ‘the looks between these two,’ fork gesturing to Jack and then Bitty, ‘I give them a year before vows are exchanged.’ He sits back, looking pretty proud of himself until the ring from Bitty’s napkin hits him square in the nose.

‘Ow, Jesus Christ, Bitty!’

‘I want no more chirping at this table thank y’all-’ he points a finger at everyone but Lardo, .

‘Hey! What’d I do!’ Ransom says, indignant.

‘-we are gonna be pleasant and enjoy this meal.’

‘So, subject change?’ Ransom asks. Bitty nods appreciatively. ‘Okay, Jack, Alexei Mashkov-’ The rest of the table groans in unison as Ransom spews a tirade of worship for his favourite Falconer. Jack, the poor boy, answers questions he feels comfortable answering, but balks at a few of the stranger requests for information (what colour underwear does Tater typically wear? Is his size and indication of his, you know,  _ size _ ? How averse do you think he and his wife might be to polyamory?).

 

Not soon enough, they are interrupted by the front door slamming open and Holster barreling in to declare that he is, in fact, home.

‘Where’s Zimmermann, did I miss the shovel talk?’ he looks around at the less than impressed faces of his teammates. ‘Dude, Rans, you talkin’ about Mashkov again?’ Holster sits down to eat, at the only spare chair (opposite Shitty) and the conversation turns instead to why he’s late and how much he’s going to miss Bitty’s cooking once he graduates. Jack lifts one perfect eyebrow at the sudden whirlwind that is Adam Birkholtz, which Bitty interprets as a sign of his irritation. He further postulates that, knowing Jack is used to boisterous hockey boys, he sees the late arrival and lack of apology as an insult to Bitty. It’s heartening, that after only two days (nearly three!) Jack is already protective of Bitty’s time and effort. By the time Jack’s eyes have made their way back to Bitty, he’s smiling fit to burst at how  _ appreciated _ he feels. Jack’s expression shifts from irritated to curious and Bitty just shrugs happily, because, how does he explain that?

‘Thank you,’ he says quietly, while the others are loud and obnoxious around him.

‘For what?’

‘For this. For you,’ he squeezes his hand on Jack’s thigh gently, ‘for being so sweet, I guess.’ Jack places his own hand atop Bitty’s and leans into his space.

‘You’re welcome,’ he whispers and kisses Bitty softly on the cheek. The silence around the table is sudden and obvious. 

‘So, Jack,’ Lardo says, cutting through the tension, ‘what’s the deal with your instagram account? You a photographer or something? Some of your photo’s are pretty awesome, bro.’

 

Bitty thanks his lucky stars everyday for the goddess that is Larissa Duan.

 

After dessert (Bitty made his moomaw’s lemon bars, because, well, they’re irresistible, but mostly because he’s reluctant to make pie so early in their bet) Bitty rips Jack away from the well meaning but overwhelming clutches of his friends and leads him back up the stairs and to his bedroom. Once they’re safe and alone inside, Bitty pulls Jack down onto the bed so that they sit side by side, knees resting against each other in the middle. 

‘So,’ Bitty starts.

‘So.’

‘Sorry about all that. They can be a bit… of a catastrophe.’

‘It’s pretty obvious they adore you, Itty Bits,’ Jack chirps happily. 

‘Ha ha. Can I ask you something, Jack?’

‘Of course.’

‘When do you think I’ll get to see you again?’ Jack reaches for Bitty’s hand and laces their fingers together, resting it in his lap .

‘We’re in Tampa till Monday, so I was hoping you might come to the game at home on Wednesday?’

‘You sure? I won’t be a distraction?’ Bitty asks, bottom lip fixed between his teeth.

‘You’ll be something for me to look forward to, win or lose,’ Jack says with finality. Bitty has neither the room nor the inclination to object further. He smiles wide and shuffles himself back onto the bed, pulling Jack with him by their joined hands.

‘Will you cuddle with me some, before you go home?’ Bitty looks tentatively at Jack, his beautiful blue eyes full of light as he follows Bitty down to the mattress, ‘is that okay?’

‘Sounds perfect, bud.’ Jack settles himself around Bitty, wrapping his big arms around his shoulders, nuzzling his nose into Bitty’s hair as Bitty rests his cheek between Jack’s collar bones. He soaks in the clean but masculine scent of Jack’s tee-shirt, relishes the warmth of Jack’s body enveloping him. Their legs are tangled and bump together gently as they relax into comfortable positions. 

‘You make a very comfortable mattress, Mister Zimmermann.’

‘I could do this every day and never get bored, Eric.’ Bitty chuckles into Jack’s chest, knowing he’s as much serious as he is chirping Bitty about their bet. 

‘Who knew you would be such a schmaltzy one,’ he punctuates with a kiss to Jack’s bare skin. Jack shivers in response. 

‘I didn’t,’ Jack says seriously, ‘I never have been before.’ He runs a hand through Bitty’s hair and returns the kiss with one to the top of Bitty’s head. ‘I like it though. I used to watch my parents be like this with each other,’ he shifts slightly under Bitty, ‘never thought I’d get to have it for myself.’ 

Bitty lifts his head to look up at Jack and is greeted with a face full of joyful contentment. He believes, suddenly and for the first time since they started this, that it, them, the two of them, might actually be forever. He shifts up and captures all that joy with his lips. They both taste like lemon and sugar. 

‘I told my parents about you today,’ he says, out of the blue, when they come apart for air. Jack sits up sharply and holds Bitty by his shoulders.

‘And? Was it okay? Are you okay?’

‘It was, weirdly… anticlimactic.’ Bitty says with a frown. ‘I’m pretty sure they’ve been expecting it for a while.’ Jack draws his hands in lazy circles on BItty’s back. ‘They’re going to want to meet you, I think.’

‘Maybe after playoffs?’ Jack says after a moment.

‘Whatever you want, sweetpea. Let’s just wait and see what happens, huh?’

‘Okay, Bits,’ Jack says with a smile, ‘I better get going though, We’ve got an early practice tomorrow.’ Bitty nods and untangles himself from Jack reluctantly. They keep their hands joined while Bitty sees him to the door. Shitty, Rans, Holster and Lardo are all still in the living room, chirping the Tanner family as they binge watch Full House on Netflix and drink the leftover alcohol. They wave goodbye but make no move to get up as Bitty and Jack pass them by on their way out. Bitty hands Jack a container of lemon bars from the kitchen and Jack takes them with a gracious smile and a less gracious kiss that melts Bitty like butter. They promise again to text over their time apart and Bitty closes the door behind Jack, afraid that if he tries to walk him to the car he's likely to jump in and let Jack take him home. 

 

‘Good night, Bitty?’ Shitty asks with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle as Bitty goes to join them on the couch.

‘Rocking the deep V huh, Bits. I like it,’ Ransom says with a wink. Bitty looks down at his shirt and realises only the bottom two buttons are actually buttoned. 

‘Oh my Lord,’ he hisses, rushing to button them again as he spins around and decides to go straight back up to bed. 

‘Have fun, Bitty!’ Holster calls out to him and Bitty responds by flipping him a rather ungentlemanly middle finger as he dashes up the stairs to the relative safety of his bedroom. He flops down onto the bed that now smells like Jack (divine) and startles at an incoming text message in his pocket. 

 

Tuesday 10:07pm

**Received** : ♥

 

He falls asleep sporting a smile that is so huge, it can probably be seen from space. 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More is coming! I promise! (Will try to stick to weekly updates, even over Christmas)
> 
> As always, tell me what you're thinking...
> 
> ❤


	4. Phone Calls and Lymonnyk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for all Russian translations.
> 
> Many and profuse thanks to all you gorgeous readers ♥ Your comments keep me going when I'd otherwise be face down, comatose, in a puddle of my own drool...
> 
> (note to self: discover time-travel, go back three years and seven months, convince yourself NOT to have children. You will never sleep again...)

 

 

Bitty wakes to the sound of his ringtone. He fumbles the phone in his hands, drops it, reaches for it and grabs it up, sighing in disappointment when he realises it isn’t Jack. It’s his mama.

    ‘Morning, mama.’ His throat is rough and his eyes are refusing to stay open, but, well, it's his mama, ‘s’early…’

    ‘Okay, Eric Richard Bittle.’ Lord, she’s sportin’ her no-nonsense voice, ‘time to tell me everything.’

So Bitty regales her with the tale of he and Jack meeting, going a little light on any information pertaining to the bet, instead inferring that they are just dating for now, being that Jack is so in the public eye and Bitty is coming out of a long term (if not emotionally underwhelmingly) relationship. Which of course his mama then demands to know about also.

    ‘There’s not much _to_ know mama, he was cute and nice to me, until he wasn’t and I ended it. That’s all she wrote,’ he says with a shrug she can’t see.

    ‘Well, as long as you are being careful and looking after yourself,’ she says, a slight pause and then, ‘you are doing that, right, honey?’

    ‘I am, mama. You raised me right.’

    ‘Damn straight I did. Or, damn gay, I guess.’

    ‘Mama!’ he has the sudden realisation that this is an inherently annoying aspect of familial chirping he’s been missing his whole life. He's never known the joy (make that horror) of having  his mother drive him crazy with overprotective advice about boys. But it’s _fun_ to laugh with her about this. And to finally be honest with each other. The relief is breathtaking. He ends the call feeling so light he could just float away.

 

Jack does call Bitty that afternoon, from the sounds of things (slight echo, the slap of pucks on sticks, noisy hockey boys) he’s still at practice.

    ‘What are you doing calling me when you should be concentrating’ Bitty says when he realises where Jack is.

    ‘I had a break. I missed you.’ Bitty rolls his eyes, but with a grin that could melt the rink at Faber.

    ‘You can't miss me, you just saw me, darlin’,’ he chirps, knuckles rapping against his chin.

    ‘I missed that.’

    ‘What?’

    ‘Darlin’, honey, sweetpea. I missed that.’ Bitty’s folding laundry, phone in pocket and chatting through his headphones. The chord clacks against his chest as he shakes his head at Jack’s sweet foolishness.

    ‘Good lord, honey, you are gonna be the death of me,’ Bitty says, chuckling under his breath.

    ‘In a good way?’ Jack asks, only half joking.

    ‘The best.’

    -‘Is that your Itty Baker?’ Bitty hears someone calling out, getting louder as they close in on Jack.

    ‘Who’s that? Is that Tater?’ Bitty asks, ‘Jack, why is he calling me Itty Baker?’

    ‘I may have brought the leftover lemon bars to practice.’ Jack says with (Bitty is sure) a shit eating grin. ‘He may now be slightly in love with you.’

    ‘Jack Zimmerman!’

    ‘Eric Bittle!’

    ‘Why would you give them _that_ nickname? This is not the first impression I want to make on your team.’

    ‘What, that you’re adorable?’ Bitty just humph’s in reply.

    -‘Hey Zimmboni, tell little B, I’m wanting more lemon bars, yes? Hey! You think he could make lymonnyk?’ Bitty can hear Alexei ask with interest.

    ‘Tater,’ Jack says, somewhat muffled and away from the mouthpiece, ‘go annoy somebody else.’

    -‘Sorry Jack,’ he can hear Tater get much louder as he yells, ‘sorry Itty Bits!’. He can’t help but laugh.

    ‘You _do not_ have to make him lymonnyk,’ Jack sighs, exasperated.

    ‘Well, now, honey. You need to know, I will absolutely _never_ back down from a baking challenge.’

    ‘ _Maustie,_ don’t go out of your way, Eric. Tater is a _troublemaker_.’ Jack says the last as if he is speaking directly at someone away from the phone. Bitty soothes him with his southern charm and Jack ends the call sounding much happier, if not a little flustered.

 

    Bitty spends probably too much time the next day researching recipes on pinterest and google before finally giving in and calling Jack.

    ‘Salut.’

    ‘Hey, Jack,’ Bitty greets the gruff, clipped, but fond hello of his boyfriend (he needs to clarify this actually. Are they boyfriends? Or just dating? Lord, maybe they should have had this conversation two days ago…)

    ‘Eric? How you going bud? _You’re_ missing _me_ this time, huh?’

    ‘Ah, actually I called to talk to Tater. Is he there?’

    ‘You called to talk to Tater?’

    ‘Yep.’

    ‘Why is my boyfriend calling me to talk to another guy?’

    ‘Ah, so we _are_ boyfriends!’

    ‘What? Was that a test?’ Jack says, incredulous.

    ‘Lord, no, honey. I was just having a conversation about that in my head. You know, are we boyfriends, or are we just dating? I figured, I mean, it wasn’t presumptuous to figure that we’re exclusive, right?’

    ‘No, _crisse_ , Bittle. Of course we are! Maybe we should have talked about this more explicitly.’

    ‘You want to get explicit with me right now, Jack?’ Bitty teases.

    ‘Ha! Umm, no. I’m in the locker room right now.’ Jack’s voice gets real low, ‘maybe later though? At home?’ Bitty hears a bunch of whistling and catcalls in the background and is pretty sure Jack is gonna get mercilessly chirped for this phone call.

    ‘Sure, we can do that, sweetpea,’ he’s sort of hoping Jack actually means to talk more about the terms of their relationship and not (goodness...) phone sex or the like. Not that the idea isn’t thrilling (oh the _visual image_ of Jack moaning into the phone, touching himself, maybe trailing one of those big hands down the scattering of dark hair on his chest {Bitty remembers that iconic ESPN photo shoot} to the line that leads all the way down to-)

    ‘Eric!’

    ‘Huh?’

    ‘Where did you go bud? You disappeared for a second there.’

    ‘Sorry, honey, it’s a bad connection maybe. Ah anyway,’ Bitty shakes those thoughts out of his head, ‘I did actually call to talk to Tater if he’s there.’ Bitty can hear Jack grumbling about it as he maneuvers around the locker room and eventually finds Tater (in the shower? Bitty can hear water running)...

    ‘Little Baker! Hello!’

    ‘Well hello there, mister Mashkov.’

    ‘Jack say you want talk to me?’

    ‘Right, yes well. I’ve been looking up these lymonnyk recipes and they all seem to be half in Russian, and, you know, my Russian’s pretty rusty these days so-’

    ‘What you mean, _these days_?’

    ‘Ah, well, тренера по фигурному катанию была из России.’ It was a little stilted and his accent was horrible, but he remembered enough to have a rough conversation.

    ‘О, Боже, он такой милый!’ Tater, as excited as he sounds to be conversing in his native tongue, is speaking slowly and with deliberate articulation. ‘бойфренд Джека говорит на русском.’ Though it’s a little patronising to be referred to as cute by a man he’s never met, it squeezes Bitty’s little heart to be referred to as Jack’s boyfriend, by a third party.

    -‘Hey! Are you speaking Russian to my Eric?’ _My Eric_ he says. Good gravy.

    ‘Is okay, Zimmboni, your future husband has Russian figure skating coach. He speak very adorable little Russian.’ Well really. He can’t argue with that. He can hear Jack blustering in the background though, _tabernac_ something, Tater something… He assumes it’s a telling off about the future husband comment. Heavens, what has Jack been telling these boys?

    ‘ _Anyway_.’ Bitty interrupts, pulling the conversation back on track, ‘I was wondering if I could email you a recipe I found, and maybe you could send me back a conversion to the correct directions and all the right quantities? Don’t worry if it’s metric, I can work with metric, honey.’

    ‘For you, конечно, это не проблема. So excited for your baking, Bitty.’

    ‘Okay great! Xорошo!’

    -‘Okay, gimme the phone back, Mashkov!’ Bitty hears a bit of a ruckus, a chuckle and suddenly Jack’s voice is much louder, ‘Eric?’

    ‘Hey, sweetpea.’

    ‘What was all that about?’ Jack says, a little bewildered, but not unkind.

    ‘I just need Tater’s email address so I can get him to convert some measurements and method notes on a traditional Lymonnyk recipe I found. I don’t trust my Russian enough to go doing it on my own. And google’s a bit rubbish at that sort of thing.’

    ‘But you speak Russian?’

    ‘Just a smidge, yeah.’

    ‘Okay. Alright,’ Jack sounds a bit lost, ‘I want to talk to you about this, but can I call you back later? I’ve got to get in the shower.’ Bitty closes his eyes to enjoy that idea for a moment.

    ‘No problem, Jack. I’m not going anywhere.’ He means he’ll be home all night, but it catches his breath, how much he feels that way about their whole situation.

    ‘Me either bud,’ Jack says, fondness like a blanket around Bitty. ‘See you in a bit.’

 

    Jack calls back later that evening when Bitty is cleaning the kitchen after Ransom’s turn to cook dinner (he only ever makes tacos, but nobody’s complaining).

    ‘Eric, babe, it’s so ridiculously hot down here. I hate it.’

    ‘Oh boy, I bet you’d just melt into a big ol’ puddle if you came home to Georgia with me,’ He doesn’t say anything about the ‘babe’, but Bitty’s nerve endings are pretty tickled by it.

    ‘Well, I guess we'll find out eventually. _Crisse_ , it's just going to get even hotter next month isn’t it?’

    ‘Fraid so, darlin’. Don’t worry, if you come down with me, we’ll spend the whole time swimming. And I’ll take you to the rink where I played my first game of hockey.’

    ‘Oh yeah? I can imagine you as a sweet little kid all dressed up in gear.’

    ‘No actually, I was nearly sixteen when I played my first game.’ Jack coughs strangely at that revelation.

    ‘Sorry, you what?’

    ‘What?’

    ‘You were sixteen when you played your first game of hockey?’

    ‘Yeah, Jack, before that I was figure skating competitively. I probably would have qualified for the olympics if I hadn’t… umm… you know. Switched sports.’ Bitty wasn’t sure how much Jack knew about him, but if this was a surprise, Bitty definitely didn’t want to go into detail about what had forced him off the ice, and - after enough time away - lead him into a sport that could at least satisfy his love to skate, keep him occupied, and give catharsis to his growing frustration and anger. At least not over the phone.

    ‘How… how are you so good?’ Jack says, sounding lost, ‘I mean, I don’t mean, I just mean… you’re such an amazing player, Eric? And you’ve only been playing what, five years? That’s, it’s ah…’

    ‘Jack, are you okay? Are you mad, honey?’

    ‘It’s so fucking _hot,_ Eric. You are, you are… one in a million, huh?’ Bitty lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was even holding.

    ‘Oh lord, Jack. I’m not, I try real hard, you know, but I’m no… well I’m no, _you.’_ Jack doesn’t say anything for a minute and Bitty is content to let the silence stretch while he thinks about the things they really don’t know about each other yet. But it’s not scary. It’s exciting, this opportunity for them to slowly unravel each other’s pasts.

    ‘I’d really love to play with you one day, bud.’

    ‘We can probably make that happen, sweetpea. How’s about for now, you just focus on all the playing you are gonna be doin’ in the next week.’ Jack lets out a huge sigh.

    ‘You’re right. We get a few hours of ice time tomorrow at Amalie, then lunch, a nap and all the pregame stuff.’

    ‘You should go, get an early night.’ Bitty says, yawning himself now.

    ‘But wait, we didn’t talk about what we were supposed to talk about.’

    ‘What’s that?’

    ‘You know the, _explicit_ stuff,’ Jack says in nearly a whisper.

    ‘Oh right, the _explicit_ stuff,’ Bitty echoes. ‘I’m sort of guessing from your tone right now, that detailing the exact nature of our relationship is not exactly the _explicit_ conversation you have in mind.’ Jack lets out a short laugh.

    ‘Um, you’d be right about that, not that that’s not important, obviously,’ he rushes to clarify.

    ‘Okay, but while we’re talking about it, can we just establish, you know, that we are _boyfriends_ now, and that we aren’t seeing anyone else and that this, the two of us, is real and exclusive.’

    ‘Absolutely, Bits. Things are gonna get a bit crazy for us soon, and the only way we can make it work is if we’re a team. You and me. Okay?’

    ‘Okay, Jack.’

    ‘And, I mean, apart from the fact that I just don’t think about other people that way, I would never do anything to hurt you like that. I promise.’

    ‘Promises get broken all the time, Jack.’ Bitty says softly.

    ‘Not by me they don’t. Not this time.’ Jack sounds a little bitter at the end there and Bitty wonders what promises he has broken in the past. But that’s probably a conversation for another day.

    ‘I suppose what we’re doing requires a bit of faith, honey, from both of us.’

    ‘I suppose it does.’

    ‘And I hope you don’t mind that I’m not, I don’t feel ready to, no that’s wrong. I think I’m a bit nervous about, you know, being _explicit_ yet. At least, over the phone.’

    ‘That’s okay, bud,’ Jack is quick to placate, ‘I don’t want to push you into anything you're not comfortable with.’

    ‘Thank you, honey. I’m just not, I’m not good at that stuff. Yet, anyway.’

    ‘Well, that sounds... promising.’ Bitty laughs at Jack’s teasing tone. ‘I know it hasn’t been long, but I miss touching you, already. Does that seem crazy?’

    ‘A little. But I feel it too, Jack. I think crazy isn’t always a bad thing.’ Jack makes a noise of assent and takes his time before speaking again.

    ‘I should go. Let you get to bed. Or hang out with the team. What is it? Thursday? You doing anything tonight. I didn’t even ask.’

    ‘Nothing exciting. The seniors are setting up a Mario Kart tournament with Dex, Nursey and Chowder. I’ll watch and heckle them all while they ply me with too many of Shitty’s cocktails. It’ll be nice to spend some time with them though. Before they go off and leave us.’

    ‘You’re gonna miss them, eh?’

    ‘So much, Jack.’

    ‘I’ll let you get back to them, Bits.’

    ‘Goodnight, honey.’

    ‘Goodnight.’

 

    Bitty hopes that Jack isn’t too disappointed in him for being a chicken. He thinks about what he can do to make it up to him and comes up with a plan. He goes upstairs and gets into a grey, very wide necked tank (it’s barely a scrap of material really) and the short flannel shorts he wears to bed. He arranges himself on the bed with the phone propped up against Señor Bunny (his most valuable possession and favourite sleeping companion) with the timer on, one hand behind his head, legs stretched out, one knee bent. It’s as flattering as he can get at short notice, and it seems only fair that Jack should have a visual representation like this of Bitty, knowing how easy it is for Bitty to find the same and more of Jack just by googling him.

 

    He texts Jack the photo, pulls a Samwell hoodie on over his pyjamas and heads back down to the Bro bonding session the team has set up in the living room. Lardo is murdering them all in the tournament and Holster is particularly frosty about it by the time Bitty has settled himself into a beanbag with a cocktail and a handful of sugar cookies. Tater must have spent all afternoon in the hotel translating his recipe, because a delightfully enthusiastic email comes through with all the conversions and a very detailed method, complete with commentary about what his babushka’s lymonnyk was like and how the rest of his family was ill equipped to carry on the traditions of her baking prowess. His reading is interrupted by a picture message. It’s Jack, shirtless and in bed, the selfie taken from above and highlighting his half lidded but intensely blue eyes, his lips in a small, genuine smile and his free hand somewhere on his stomach, off screen. His first thought is that it’s beautiful. Jack looks more relaxed and happy than Bitty has ever seen him in a photo before. And his second thought is that Bitty did that, he put that smile on Jack’s face, he made Jack feel that comfortable, both with himself and with Bitty. He knows to cherish the photo, because he’s sure that there are very few like it that exist in the world (candid and emotionally exposed as it is), Jack Zimmermann is such a private person, and so wary of the media and their ability to dig up dirt (real or imaginary). He quickly saves the photo into a protected folder on his phone, deletes it from the text thread and clutches said phone to his chest. He’ll look at it more later. For now, he just curls up and sends a string of heart eyed emojis in reply. Jack’s answering text is almost immediate.

 

Thursday 9:36pm

 **Received:** You are not helping me cool down here, Eric.

 

 **Sent:** The plan was definitely to heat you up, Mr Zimmerman

 

 **Received:** It worked. I’m a little bit embarrassed at how well, actually...

 

 **Sent:** Lord, don’t put those images in my head, Jack. I’m surrounded by hockey players rn and these shorts are very thin

 

 **Received:** You’re still wearing those shorts?

 

 **Sent:** Yep ★~(◠‿◕✿)

 

 **Received:** Give me a minute. I just… give me one minute…

 **Received:** Okay, I better go, get some “sleep”. Maybe you could just send me one more photo…

 

Bitty rolls his eyes but angles his phone to take a selfie, lying almost sideways in the beanbag one bare leg tucked up to his chest, the other stretched out a little, his toes pointed to the floor, cookie clasped in the hand wrapped around his knees.

 

 **Sent:** (image) Sweet dreams Jack

 

Jack sends back another selfie, this time it's mostly just his face, one hand over his eyes and caught mid laugh, his mouth thrown wide with joy, his nose scrunched. It’s the most beautiful thing that Bitty has ever seen.

 

 **Received:** (image) You’re killing me!

 **Received:** Sweet dreams, Eric. Get back to your team. We’ll talk tomorrow.

 

 **Sent:** Good luck Jack. I’ll be watching ♥

 

    Friday night (the thirteenth mind you. Not a great date to be playing your first game in the Conference round of the playoffs) Bitty sits down with Shitty to watch the game. They have beer, soft buttery pretzels (Bitty and Dex spent all afternoon baking them, and they’re _so_ good), and a ton of enthusiasm. None of it can do much good, unfortunately, as they watch the Falconers lose the first game three to one. Jack manages to get a goal in the second period, a beautiful wrist shot that flies right past Vasilevskiy to hit the back of the net. Tampa already have three on the board though, and the Falcs can’t manage to score again. It’s heartbreaking. Bitty is just so much more invested in the result now, he feels the loss as a palpable thing, gripping him and squeezing tight. It has to be a thousand times worse for Jack though and Bitty’s heart breaks even further.  

 

    Shitty is devastated. The other boys had been coming and going through the game to check in and add colourful commentary, but the mood had sombered once they entered the third period. Lardo had remained fixed to Shitty, shaking her head with him at the dubious calls and confiscating his beer when he tried to throw it at the television. In commiseration, he throws an impromptu pity party that will no doubt turn into a massive kegster, but Bitty is not feeling it and heads up to his room to avoid the people and the spilt beer and the groping hands and the unwanted reminder of drunken photos and Hunter yelling at him about ‘never being receptive enough’, and ‘what else was he supposed to do when Bitty never seemed to want to touch him’… He just needs the quiet solitude of his bedroom.

    It turns out to have been a good idea because the first thing Jack does when he gets off the ice is call Bitty.

    ‘Bits.’

    ‘Honey,’ Bitty crumples at the loss in Jack’s voice

    ‘That sucked.’

    ‘It sure did, darlin’.’ He hears Jack’s snort of laughter and is bolstered, ‘but that was a beautiful goal, Jack. You played so well. Sometimes it just doesn't go your way.’

    ‘You sound like the coaching staff, Eric.’

    ‘Well, I’m captain next year, Jack. It’s my job to know this stuff.’

    ‘You’re gonna be a great captain, Bittle,’ Jack’s voice is low and proud.

    ‘Hey now, listen,’ Bitty tries for peppy and is surprised to find it easy to come by, ‘Monday night you are going to get me a hat trick, and I will be waiting outside that locker room for you on Wednesday night and I will make it _worth your while,_ okay?’ He hears another snort, but this one is less fond.

    ‘It’s not so easy, Eric, I can’t just not stress because you ask me to.’

    ‘I know, honey, I know, but how about, every time you start to feel stressed, you just picture me in those shorts and all the things you're going to do with me when you get hold of me again and focus on that instead of how overwhelming that stupid clock can be, and I promise, you’ll find the net.’ He can hear Jack breathing, deep and deliberate. ‘And even if you lose, Jack Zimmermann, and you don’t score one measly point, I will still be here, waiting for you. You won't be disappointed.’

    ‘No. I could never be disappointed in you, Bits.’

    ‘Well, let’s not get too carried away.’ He is heartened to hear a huff of laughter, real this time, and lighter.

    ‘Okay, okay. I better go, I’ve got press to do.’

    ‘Knock ‘em dead sweetheart. Don’t let them give you any grief.’

    ‘I’ll just think of you in your little shorts.’ Bitty Laughs.

    ‘Right, but keep it PG while the cameras are rolling.’ Jack’s laugh is full and _happy_ this time and Bitty knows his job is done.

    ‘Bye, baby,’ Jack says, still laughing.

    ‘Bye, Jack.’

 

    Monday Night, the night after graduation, Shitty’s last night watching TV in the house, he and Bitty sit down to watch game two. They watch with clasped hands, held breath and tears streaming as Jack (‘magnificent’, ‘on fire’, ‘electric’, gush the commentators) gets his hat trick. The Falconers win the second away game, three goals to two.

  
  
  


   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘тренера по фигурному катанию была из России (trenera po figurnomu kataniyu byla iz Rossii)’ figure skating coach was from Russia
> 
> ‘О, Боже, он такой милый! (O, Bozhe, on takoy milyy)’ Oh! He’s so cute
> 
> ‘бойфренд Джека говорит на русском (boyfrend Dzheka govorit na russkom).’ Jack’s boyfriend speaks Russian
> 
> ‘конечно, это не проблема (konechno, eto ne problema)’ Of course, it’s no problem.
> 
> Xорошo (horoscho) great!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me peeps (n˘v˘•)¬ I love you all!


	5. Take (Bitty) out to the (hockey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty heads to game three of the conference finals...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to jujubeans for the amazing but painstaking job she does of making me sound smarter (it's a tough gig).
> 
> Thanks to Ngozi for this fandom and these characters. They are just so, so fun to play with. So beautifully drawn and crafted. 
> 
> Thanks to you all. Your comments and kudos and just showing up to read the darn thing, you make me so happy. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, happy holidays. Love you.  
> ❤❤❤
> 
> ps. Rating change! Squeee!

 

 

Bitty starts his internship in Boston next week, so he has six days to get organised for, and (more problematically) acclimated to the idea of, being an employed (yep, he’s even getting paid - a little) professional. He has clothes to put together, hairstyles to deliberate over, shoes to find, lunches to pack. He put so much effort into his application and presentation for the position, he wants to make sure that all that effort will mean something. He wants to be _good_ at this. But everything that he should be doing (and _does_ feel guilty about backburning, honestly), is overshadowed by his excitement at seeing Jack. So instead of washing/ sorting/ ironing his most professional looking outfits, he’s modelling jeans and sweater combinations in front of the mirror. Light jeans, white knit sweater? Too dressy. Dark jeans, Falconers sweatshirt? Too obvious. Ripped jeans, soft grey hoodie? Too casual (cute though. He might take that with him as a change of clothes. You know. Just in case). He decides on black jeans and a Samwell jersey, because he looks good in red, and because he knows Jack is a fan - enough that he will appreciate Eric in his own number -  and he’s feeling a little cheeky.

 

He bakes the Lymonnyk, following the meticulously translated directions from Tater, adding his own personal touch by making a lattice crust and a lemon zest sugar to sprinkle over it. Otherwise he keeps it strictly traditional, eggless, sour cream in the dough (making it surprisingly light and flaky), and whole minced lemons (not processed, chopped by hand). It smells wonderful, and the test pie he makes disappears before he gets a chance to have a real piece (Dex _is_ still growing) so he assumes it tastes just as good. He puts it into a tupperware pie carrier and keeps it in the fridge overnight.

 

He sleeps, fitfully and hardly at all.

 

Bitty arrives in Providence by train. He carts himself, his bag and the Lymonnyk to the arena and picks up the ticket that Jack has left under the name ‘Itty Bits’. Bitty’s cheeks are flaming but the clerk smiles at him with warmth and gives him a wink as she slips it into his hand. He makes his way through to his allocated seat (distracted by the ice and trying to catch a glimpse of the team warming-up) and doesn’t immediately notice that he’s been seated in the family section. He only realises he is, when he finally manages to look away from the ice and Madison Mashkov is staring up at him from the seat next to his.

‘Little B?’ she says, eyeing him with joyful curiosity, ‘Eric Bittle?’

‘Ms Mashkov?’ He asks, recognising her instantly but asking out of politeness - they’ve never actually met, after all.

‘Yes, it’s Madison, please. It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to your name.’ Bitty is a little star struck. Madison Mashkov is such an interesting woman, a successful veterinarian, sucked into a media storm during her whirlwind romance and marriage to the charismatic Alexei Mashkov. Strikingly beautiful, a few years older than Tater, amazonian in appearance, all olive skin, dark hair and hazel eyes. Tall and strong in a way that might have seemed intimidating if not for the genuine warmth in her smile.

‘It seems as if we have colour coordinated ourselves, Madison,’ Bitty says with a soft laugh, gesturing to the matching red of their sweaters.

‘Oh, we match!’ she says happily, ‘and I hear you’ve baked something for Alyosha?’ Bitty remembers his manners and passes the pie dish over to Madison.

‘It’s nothing really,’ Bitty says as he finally takes his seat next to Tater’s lovely wife.

‘I have a feeling you’re underselling it,’ she says, taking the container reverently, but making no move to open it. ‘It smells absolutely amazing!’

‘Oh, no. Well, hopefully it’s good. I’m a bit worried as to how it might hold up against his babushka's baking.’ Bitty puts his bag on the floor under his seat and turns back to Madison, ‘if it’s not good enough you have to promise to be honest with me, Madison, and I’ll try a different recipe.’ She looks to argue with him, but Bitty put his hand up, ‘I insist! I want to make sure I get it right.’

‘A perfectionist, huh?’ she asks with a wry grin. Bitty nods sagely.

‘Yes ma’am. It’s how my mama raised me.’ Bitty slides a little more completely into his accent as he says it, emphasising the teasing tone and it makes Madison smile.

‘Oh, Eric, where are my manners. I’d better introduce you to everybody!’ Bitty doesn’t get a chance to be too overwhelmed by the other people in their section, some wives, girlfriends, sisters, brothers, parents (he is the only boyfriend, but nobody seems at all bothered or surprised) because the Falconers are soon on the ice and performing their warm up drills.

 

The smile on Jack’s face when he spots Bitty in his seat, stretches for miles and he waves back enthusiastically when Bitty raises a hand to say hello. Madison reaches over to speak softly to Bitty.

‘I have known that boy for two years and I’ve never once seen him smile like that. Not once,’ she says. ‘You must be something special, Eric Bittle.’ She pats an elegant hand on his forearm before turning back to wave at Tater as he skates up behind Jack to slap him on the back. Jack buckles a little under the weight of Tater’s hand and elbows him back, causing Tater to laugh and throw his arm around Jack’s shoulders. He looks up to wave back to his wife and then uses both arms to wave at Bitty. Jack elbows him again and they both skate back to their team to focus and warm up.

 

Bitty spends the rest of the time before the game starts chatting with Madison and getting caught up on all the team gossip. Marty and Thirdy’s wives seem fascinated by Bitty’s life at Samwell, what his major is (Communication studies with a focus on technology), what the frat house is like (‘oh it’s just as awful as you’d imagine, but with less debauchery and more sriracha’) and how Bitty likes the campus (‘It’s absolutely beautiful, and so welcoming and supportive. I can’t recommend it enough’). And before they know it the game is starting, and Bitty has shuffled right onto the edge of his seat.

 

This is not like watching the game at home with Shitty (who he may never watch another game at home with, now that he’s moved into a tiny Boston apartment with Lardo. But, focus, Bitty, on the game, and worry about that later) where he can yell and swear up a storm and hide his face in the pillow when someone gets a bad check or a play goes horribly wrong. Here, he is being watched by the families of all the players in the team. Here, there are cameras ready to catch crazy crowd reactions (especially from the family section). The last thing he wants to do is embarrass Jack or cause a scene, so he tries to remember to be on his best behaviour. Which is no easy feat, when neither team manage to score in the first period and everyone’s nerves are running high.

 

It’s the second period when Jack manages to get an assist to Guy, who slaps it into the back of the net for their first goal. Bitty doesn’t feel so bad about his excessive cheering when Marty’s wife, Gabby, jumps up to yell, ‘Fuck Yeah!’ and Madison is essentially just screaming nonsensically beside him. He laughs with her when she bumps his shoulder every time Jack passes well or checks a Tampa player off the puck. And then by the third period when Tater and Jack have each scored a goal and then Jack manages to net a fourth in a power play, Bitty is hugging everyone in their section with joyful abandon. The Falcs have managed to get one up in the series, with the next game still at home. Not that Bitty was worried, but Jack is going to be so happy. Bitty is just about spilling over with excitement.

 

Gabby and Madison lead Bitty back to the locker rooms after the game, where he waits for Jack to get out of the media hubbub.

‘Itty Bits!’ he hears, before a giant body flings itself around his shoulders and squeezes. It takes all of Bitty’s recently found resolve not to balk at the physicality and try to curl into the foetal position.

‘Get off him, Tater!’ Madison cries, as she yanks her husband off Bitty, ‘the poor boy hasn’t even met you yet. At least shake his hand first, you caveman.’

‘Oh sorry, sorry! Little B! I’m not mean to frighten you! Just very excited to meet! Я не мог дождаться встречи с моим новым другом!’

‘Well, I’m excited to meet you too, другом,’ Bitty says with a smile. Tater may be ten inches taller than Bitty, but he has the kind of gentle countenance that manages to eventually put Bitty at ease. When Tater holds his hand out for Bitty to shake, he takes it, but also slips the other arm around his shoulder (as much as he can reach, stretched up onto the tip of his toes) and crowds in close to the big Russian, who takes the opportunity to grab Bitty around both arms and lift him off his feet.

‘Tater! Put him down!’ Jack yells as he finally gets into the locker room. The other boys (who are currently standing clear of Tater and Madison while introductions are being made) immediately chirp Jack for his overreaction.

‘Why I’m getting in trouble from everyone?!’ Tater complains as he places Bitty back to the ground gently. Bitty pats him on the arm.

‘You’re not in trouble with me, Tater.’ The responding beam is worth the scowl he gets from Jack, standing a foot away, hands on hips. ‘Hey, honey,’ he says, finally looking to Jack and taking in every detail of his sweaty helmet hair, half dislodged pads, flushed cheeks and adorable frown. He steps eagerly towards Jack to be pulled into a tight hug. Tilting his chin up to catch Jack’s expression his lips are captured in a quick but fierce kiss. He hears the catcalls before he feels the barrage of dirty socks come flying at them. He supposes, as he lifts a particularly revolting sock from his forearm and drops it on the floor, hockey players are just unfailingly disgusting at any age or professional level.

‘Guys!’ Jack calls out, ‘enough, eh? I’m trying to make a good impression!’ That only gathers another round of sweaty discarded clothing and kissing noises from the overgrown five year olds, while Jack tries to shield him, finally ending the torment with the famous Zimmermann face-off glare.

 

Bitty is introduced to all the players, shaking hands and giving high fives or fist bumps when requested (usually accompanied by a friendly ‘So you managed to thaw this frosty fucker, eh?’, ‘So you’re the future Mister Zimmermann, huh?’ or even, ‘Oh,  now I get why he’s been raving so incessantly’ - which certainly _hasn’t_ made him blush an alarming shade of crimson). There are one or two players who don’t initiate any contact and Bitty is not surprised. He is, unfortunately, more than familiar with receiving an unenthusiastic welcome from hyper-masculine, athletic types.

 

Jack suggests, as soon as they have a minute to themselves, that they head out and go back to his place.

‘Don’t you have team stuff you need to do? I don’t want to distract you from your captain duties…’ Bitty asks, hesitant to be the reason the team would feel let down. But Jack just shakes his head.

‘It’s all done Bittle. The media’s done, we’ve got a late practice tomorrow where I can catch up with anything the boys need. I think they’re surprised we haven’t left already,’ he says with a smile. ‘Come on, we’ll take my car.’

   

Bitty says goodbye, with another hug for Gabby and Madison and a near back breaking cuddle from Tater (‘Lymonnyk smell just like home, Little Baker. Thank you, thank you’) and a wave to the rest of the team. Jack has changed out of his gear, but has simply thrown his sweats on without showering. Bitty’s used to being around sweaty hockey boys (he _is_ a sweaty hockey boy) but something about Jack, the way the tee-shirt is sticking to his back, the little rivulets of sweat that are still running down his neck, the flush in his cheeks, his hair wet swept back with rushed fingers, it’s all Bitty can do not to squirm in his seat. It’s a twenty minute drive from the rink to Jack’s condo and Bitty is aware of every second that ticks by. Jack is too, if the way he keeps looking over at Bitty is any indication.

    ‘Have you eaten, Jack?’ he asks, as much for something to say (that isn’t, ‘can you pull over so I can climb into your lap, please, Jack’) as because he’s invested in the answer.

    ‘Um, not really. You?’ Bitty shakes his head in reply. ‘Are you hungry?’ Bitty thinks about that seriously for a moment. He isn’t really. He’s too anxious. Too hyped-up with want and anticipation to be aware of anything other than every facet of Jack’s physical presence in the car with him.

    ‘Not for food,’ is the answer he gives, and he watches Jack swallow slowly, breathe deeply, struggle to keep his eyes on the road. He turns his body towards Jack and reaches a tentative hand out to ghost along Jack’s soft cotton sweatpants. ‘How much further, Jack?’

    ‘It’s just… It’s ah…’ Jack is alternating between watching the road and looking at Bitty, and Bitty can almost hear his heart beating faster, it’s so obvious he’s getting overwhelmed with sensation.

    ‘Should I just let you drive?’ he asks, taking his hand away from Jack’s thigh.

    ‘No! Don’t go.’ Jack reaches out to grab Bitty’s hand and pull it back. They smile shyly at each other and Bitty’s own heart is racing. ‘Five minutes and we’ll be home.’

   

    Home. Bitty thinks _home_ sounds just about right.

   

 

Bitty jumps Jack as soon as they get into his apartment. They barely make it through the door before Bitty has pushed his palms into Jack’s spectacular chest and pressed him back against the wall. Jack drops his and Bitty’s bag on the hallway floor and grabs Bitty around the waist, walking him into the Kitchen. It’s a testament to how single-mindedly Bitty is focused on Jack in that moment that he doesn’t even register the kitchen or what it looks like. Everything is about Jack, the way he feels under Bitty, the smell of his sweat mixed with his aftershave and the sight of his pupils blown wide, just a band of bright blue circling the wide, darkness within.

 

‘Is this too fast? Should we be slowing down?’ Jack, bless his heart, is trying to be a gentleman. But he can't stop touching Bitty. Even as he's asking, he has his hands under Bitty’s sweater. Big, warm hands against Bitty’s soft skin, tracing over the firm definition of Bitty’s abdomen. Bitty arches into the touch, his head falling back slightly as he gasps on the inhale.

‘I know you weren't comfortable-’ and Bitty has to nip that thought in the bud. Because, no.

‘Oh, Jack, no. I'm so comfortable with this. With you. I have been dreaming about getting your hands on me, Jack. I’ve been doing all kinds of things to myself with my own hands, just wishing they were your hands,’ Jack tightens his grip on Bitty's flesh almost painfully, his eyes close as he takes a sharp breath in through the nose. Bitty tracks every movement with relish. ‘I just didn't feel-’ he takes a sharp breath of his own as Jack slides his hand up to brush Bitty’s nipple with his thumb ‘-didn’t feel comfortable over the phone.’ The last thing he wanted was to ruin their first sexual encounter together by being awkward and flustered over the phone. ‘I always want you touching me, Jack.’ Bitty reaches up with his hands to cup Jack's perfect face, rough with stubble but soft with an emotion Bitty doesn't want to name yet. ‘Especially like this.’ He punctuates his want with a delicate roll of his hips.

 

And Jack is hard, Bitty can feel it against his hip. Bitty is so painfully aroused he's legitimately worried his zipper won't hold him.

‘Okay so… I don't-’ Jack is trying to speak between kisses but they're both just getting lost in each other, ‘- I don't know how you like it…’ he finally manages to say, breaking away from Bitty just long enough to hit him with a questioning eyebrow.

‘I like it, like? Oh, like ah, your hand or your mouth? Or you inside me?’ Jack nods, a little erratically. ‘I guess with _you_ , Mister Zimmermann,’ Bitty mouths his way up Jack’s jawline to his ear and says, breathless, ‘all of the above?’

Jack grips Bitty by his hips and lifts him onto the bench. He tugs at the hem of Bitty’s sweater and slides it over his outstretched arms.

‘ _Crisse_ , Eric, you are so beautiful,’ He rests his head on Bitty’s shoulder for a moment. ‘I didn’t know anyone could be this perfect.’

Bitty wants to point out that Jack is the beautiful one, Jack is the epitome of good looks and masculinity, athleticism. But he doesn’t, because he loves to hear that Jack thinks he's perfect, because he loves that Jack sees him like that.

‘If it's my _hands_ you've been dreaming about, Eric, then maybe that’s where we should start.’ He unbuttons Bitty’s fly and peels his jeans down his thighs, taking his shoes off one by one, flinging them across the room before pulling the jeans the rest of the way to fling them in the same direction. Jack slides his hands up Bitty’s legs, laying kisses along their path, until he reaches the hem of his briefs (red, it’s the theme today, apparently) grips them with his fingertips, working them down past his prominent erection and all the way to his feet, tossing them aside recklessly. His hands trace back up Bitty but don’t stop until they reach his chest. He draws Bitty back to him, kissing him open-mouthed and desperate, chasing the wet heat of Bitty’s mouth. He runs his hands through Bitty’s hair and then back down to his mouth, watching with wide eyes as Bitty licks a stripe up Jack’s palm before he finally puts it on Bitty, pulling it teasingly, feather-light, down the length of him, pressing the tip of his thumb along the slit at the head of his cock and drawing a ragged breath from Bitty. His fingertips dance back up to the light hair of Bitty’s groin, and Bitty can’t decide if he wants to laugh or cry at the sensation before Jack grips him again and pulls his fisted hand, harder this time, back down the length to the head again. He strokes and strokes Bitty with a mixture of sweat, saliva and precome. It’s so much better in reality than it had been in his fantasy. This is real. These are really Jack’s hands on him, warm, calloused, huge but _safe._ Jack is still kissing him through all of this and he tastes like orange Gatorade and chocolate protein bars and like _Jack_ (Bitty _knows_ what Jack tastes like now, it’s _familiar_ ). It’s overwhelming, and it’s sexy and it feels _so good_ , Bitty’s hands can do nothing but grip painfully into Jack’s tee-shirt as pleasure builds in him, spreads through him and he arches up into Jack’s touch, rolling up into it with his hips to match the rhythm of Jack’s hand, biting down on Jack’s lip and then throwing his head back, crying out as it all becomes too much and his orgasm is ripped out of him, come spilling over Jack’s hands and shooting up into his shirt. It’s messy and _hot,_ Bitty never knew seeing someone all marked up with his come could be so beautiful.

 

Jack holds him as he lets Bitty catch his breath, nuzzling his nose against Bitty’s and smiling into his cheek.

‘ _Fuck_ , Bitty. That was the hottest thing I have ever. seen.’ Bitty just nods in total agreement, basking in the aftershocks, the sensory overload, the _happiness_.

‘Okay, Jack,’ he says, once he gets his breath back, grinning wildly. ‘It’s my turn to touch _you_ now.’ And Bitty is going to make it count.

  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up on boxing day! So, let me know what you're thinking... I have a heck of a crazy week ahead of me, and your comments are food for my soul ❤ 
> 
> v(=∩_∩=)ﾌ
> 
>  
> 
> Я не мог дождаться встречи с моим новым другом: (YA ne mog dozhdat'sya vstrechi s moim novym drugom)  
> I could not wait to meet my new friend.


	6. Losses and wins (games and relationships)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty and Jack face highs and lows... but they do it, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys had a great festive season ❤ This time next week will be 2018! 
> 
> Thanks to jujubeans for the most amazing beta work (so fast! So brilliant!) 
> 
> Just to reiterate, you are the greatest most amazing people ever. Thanks for keeping up with this crazy fluff fest ❤
> 
> Warning: I have added a tag for panic attacks. Be mindful, though we experience it only from an outside perspective, and it is canon typical in nature, it is still a stressful situation. If you want some spoilery info to be sure it wont cause you any undue anxiety, check the end notes. Thanks peeps.

 

 

‘Okay, Jack,’ Bitty says, once he gets his breath back (from the most impressive orgasm he’s ever had in his life to date), grinning wildly. ‘It’s my turn to touch _you_ now.’ And Bitty is going to make it count.

 

He lets his grip on Jack’s shirt loose and suddenly comprehends that he is completely naked while Jack is still fully dressed.

    ‘Also we need to get all these clothes off you. Now,’ Bitty says, wiggling his finger at Jack to demonstrate that he means the whole ensemble, top to bottom. Jack is still looking dazed, pupils wide and breath uneven. He nods his understanding, eyes on Bitty as he rips his messed-up, dry-fit tee over his head and tosses it behind him. It’s the under armour that undoes him though, because when Bitty pulls at the hem with nervous ( _excited_ , but yeah, nervous) fingers, he slips and near smacks Jack in the face. ‘Shit! Sorry,’ Bitty cries, mortified. Jack laughs though, low and sweet.

    ‘God, _Crisse_ , I’m so sweaty, it’s stuck to me.’ Jack makes a face as he pulls at his shirt and it genuinely won’t slide off. ‘Uh… this is… problematic.’ Bitty laughs now too. He pushes off the bench and steps up to Jack, who is trying to back away from Bitty. ‘I might have to get in the shower, Eric, I really reek. I mean, like, I do not want to put you through this.’ Bitty only attempts to reach Jack faster. And he is agile and determined, grabbing at Jack’s hands and pulling himself right up against Jack’s chest.

    ‘Sugar,’ he says, reaching up to bite at Jack’s jaw, ‘You smell good enough to eat.’ He hooks his fingers into Jack’s pants and uses every skerrick of dexterity in his possession to peel Jack’s sweatpants and jock shorts off in one fluid motion (he totally has it in him to be cool and sexy, it just only happens about twelve percent of the time). Jack doesn’t even have a chance to speak before Bitty has nestled his face into Jack’s groin, taking in the almost overwhelming scent of sweat and spunk that meets him there. It’s heady, it’s exhilarating, it’s evidence of Jack’s work on the ice, the pressure he puts on his body, the ferocity with which he employs his skill. More than that, it’s evidence of his arousal for Bitty, so hard he’s leaking, still so turned on through all of the work he just put into pleasing Bitty, even having hardly been touched at all. Jack is speaking but Bitty can't understand him (because it’s in French? Or because Bitty can’t use his brain for anything other than _touching, tasting, pleasing_ right now? He’s too far gone to tell) he guesses at the meaning though and gently takes the head of Jack’s cock into his mouth while he traces the length of it with his delicate fingers. He grips his other hand around the back of Jack’s ass, firm and muscular and so so perfect (there’s a reason it's award winning) and fits himself against Jack so that their bodies are making as much contact as possible.

    Bitty feels Jack card a hand through his hair to hold him gently at the back of his head. The knuckles of Jack’s other hand skim across the cut of Bitty’s jaw and he leans into the touch. There’s so much heat in Jack’s fingers, so much warmth there, he looks up and into Jack’s eyes as he stares back at Bitty and watches his expression of awe and affection slide into something more carnal as he uses his tongue and cheeks to suck Jack further into the tight, wet heat of his mouth and stroke what he can’t fit, with the tunnel of his spit-slick fingers (and Lord, there is _a lot,_ Jack is _impressive_ ). His fingers and mouth find a rhythm, helped along by the pressure of Jack’s hand guiding him, and Jack is already so far gone that it only takes a few minutes of Bitty on his knees before Jack tugs back with his hand, Bitty pulling off just far enough for Jack’s come to spill down his chin and onto his naked chest.

    Jack collapses onto the floor next to Bitty, and with no thought towards the state of him, pulls Bitty into his lap so that he’s straddling Jack, reaching up to kiss Bitty’s red, swollen lips, wild and desperate. Bitty kisses him back, though they’re mostly just breathing raggedly into each other now, Bitty laughing at the French Jack is trying to speak as he licks and pulls at Bitty with his teeth and tongue.

    ‘Lord, Jack,’ Bitty says as Jack mouths his way down Bitty’s jaw to his throat, ‘we are both of us a mess now.’ He can feel how sticky and sweaty he is and can only imagine how exhausted and _yuck_ Jack must be feeling. ‘Maybe we can both have that shower, huh?’ Jack nods and then just lifts Bitty up with him as he stands. ‘Jack!’ Bitty shouts as he grabs at Jack, tightening his arms around Jack’s shoulders and trying to lean in a way that might balance them and keep them from toppling over. ‘Put me down!’

    ‘ _Non_ ,’ Jack says, lips brushing against Bitty’s ear, ‘I don’t want to let you go.’ Poor Bitty can only shake his head and grin like a fool as Jack carries him into the ensuite and deposits him gently into the shower.

   

    Bitty finally gets a tour of the apartment in the morning. He gushes over the Kitchen, including what looks like at least six cubic feet of stainless steel oven with a convection cook top and six burners (Bitty is _not_ drooling) and the bench space (oh, the bench space. Oh what they _did_ with that bench space last night…). And while it's true that, yes, waking up next to Jack had been an experience in perfect happiness - It had felt, to Bitty, like waking up next to someone you loved. Reaching out to pull them in tighter, running your fingers up their arm, pressing your lips into the swell of their bicep, having them turn around and look at you, eyes alight with the same perfect happiness that must be mirrored in your own - _cooking breakfast_ in Jack Zimmermann’s kitchen, Bitty has discovered, is a whole ‘nother level of joy.

    ‘Jack, your kitchen is precious.’

    ‘It’s definitely growing on me,’ Jack says, wrapping his arms around Bitty from behind and holding him while he flips the pancakes and watches the bacon. ‘You know you’re killing me with these things, don’t you?’ Jack slips his hand up the hem of Bitty’s grey flannel shorts and teases it softly along the muscles in his thigh.

    ‘Ja-ack,’ Bitty drawls, putting the crêpe pan down, ‘I’m gonna burn these if you’re not careful.’

    ‘ _Tragique_.’ Jack’s hand creeps across Bitty’s leg and he shivers as it closes in on the sensitive skin at his groin.

    ‘Jack,’ Bitty’s voice is just above a whisper and he lets his head fall back onto Jack’s shoulder, ‘Jack, Jack, Jack-’ his breath hitches as Jack hooks his thumbs into the waist of Bitty’s shorts and pulls them down over his round ass and hardening cock. He steps out of them as they hit the floor and runs his hand up behind him, finding purchase in Jack’s hair. He huffs in mock protest as Jack walks them backwards and away from the stove, turning around and resting Bitty’s hips against the counter (this poor bench!). Jack must have pulled his own shorts down, because Bitty can feel the length of him, warm and stiff, pressing into him, sliding against him. And when Jack’s hands edge along Bitty, they are slick with lube. ‘You planned this!’ he accuses Jack breathlessly, who simply laughs in response.

    Bitty tugs at Jack’s hair in playful retaliation, but the moan it pulls out of Jack only encourages him to do it again, a little harder and accompanied by a languid roll of his body, back into Jack’s hips.

    ‘ _Crisse_ , _refaire-le,_ ’ Jack rocks back into Bitty and, when Bitty rolls his hips again, pulling hard at Jack’s hair, he grips Bitty by the hips, lifts him and crashes him back against himself, fucking into the space between Bitty’s thighs. Bitty has to brace himself against the counter with an outstretched hand, continuing to pull at Jack’s hair with the other, while Jack lets go of one of Bitty’s hips to reach down and stroke Bitty until they come together, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

    ‘How do we always end up here?’ Bitty says lazily, vision still swimming, heart racing, resting his head back against Jack’s shoulder. They look up at the smoking, burnt remains of breakfast.

   

They decide, in the end, to eat out.

   

***

 

Friday night, Bitty watches game four in a constant state of fight or flight. He wants to run away and hide from the television. He wants to scream at anyone and everyone that crosses his path (it’s just Dex. Poor Dex). Four different players each score a goal for Tampa in the first two periods with no answer from the Falcs. He can see Jack’s increasing frustration as he is time and again beaten back by a too strong defence and Vasilevskiy, who won’t let anything through to the net. It’s maddening and devastating and he feels, more than anything, helpless, because he can’t do _anything_ about the look of cold hatred that has settled over Jack’s features. And if Bitty knows anything at all about Jack, it’s that that look is entirely directed inwards right now.

 

He comes back into the third period with a fiercer countenance and manages to get a goal and an assist on a wrister by Tater that just squeezes through to a goal. Poots scores the sweetest slap shot off one of Vasy’s saves that has the team fighting back after their passionate celly, like it could happen. Like they could win.

 

They don’t. They don’t manage to score again and Bitty escapes to his room and waits (hopes) for a phone call from Jack. He doesn’t wait long.

 

The Jack on the other end of the line though, is in such a state, that he can’t even speak.

‘Oh, honey. It’s going to be okay. I’m here okay. I can hear you sweetpea, and I’m just going to talk at you until you feel safe enough to tell me to stop, alright?’

 

The thing is, Bitty understands about panic attacks. Bitty understands what it feels like to have fear grip you, rational or otherwise, clutching at your heart and pressing ever harder until you blackout. And he knows how to bring himself back now, from that cliff edge, doesn’t have to tear at it with his fingertips anymore.

 

‘Jack, sweetheart, can you name five things that are in the room with you right now, five things you can see?’ Bitty can hear that Jack’s breathing is heavy and hard to come by, ‘you don’t have to say it out loud, but I want you to find them and name them in your head please, darlin’, okay?’ Bitty covers the mouthpiece and takes a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Okay now, I want you to find four things you can feel, honey. Like can you feel your feet on the floor, Jack? Or the phone in your hands? You can just think it at me, I just want you to think it, alright?’ It seems like Jack’s breathing has slowed some, it certainly sounds less intermittent, more deliberate. ‘You’re doing good, sugar, so good. I want you to think of three things you can hear, Jack, even if it’s my voice or my breathing. It all counts darlin’, just think it at yourself, name it to yourself if you don’t want to talk yet, okay?’

    ‘I can hear _you_ , Eric.’ Jack whispers into the phone, quiet enough that Bitty only just catches it. ‘And I can hear the air conditioning motors running. I can’t hear the boys in the locker room, but I can hear the cars leaving.’ Jack’s breathing picks back up again and he gets louder, but not in a good way. ‘Jesus, all those fans, knowing I fucked it up. _Aweille_ , Fuck! What was I even doing out there! _Esti de calice de tabarnak!’_ Bitty can feel the stress in his voice, like a train derailing.

_‘_ Jack, Jack, Jack, don’t think about that now, sweetpea, I want you to try to focus on two things you can smell. What can you smell, darlin’?’

    It takes Jack twenty three seconds to answer. Bitty has his hair in a death grip.

    ‘Gasoline,’ Jack says.

    ‘Good, darlin’. Good. One more, okay? What else can you smell?’

    ‘Myself. _Crisse_ , I’m rank. What a fucking mess.’

    ‘Now, now, sugar, don’t be like that. I like the way you smell after a game. Remember that? Remember me telling you how much I liked it? Remember what we were doing, darlin’?’

    ‘Yeah,’ Jack says, breathless. ‘I remember.’

    ‘Good boy, sugar, I want you to think about what that felt like, my hands on you, my mouth on you,’ Bitty can hear Jack’s breathing hitch, but he isn’t worried this time. This time it’s because Bitty knows how to make him feel good. ‘And then I want you to tell me one good thing about yourself.’

    ‘ _Bits_.’

    ‘You can do it, Jack, I want you to tell me one good thing about yourself, and then I’ll tell you some things about _my_ self.’

    ‘Eric, I don’t…’

    ‘If you can think of one thing, Jack, I promise I’ll tell you _exactly_ what I’m wearing right now. Spoiler-’ Bitty says with as much chirp in his voice as he can find right now, ‘-it’s not much.’

    ‘I can’t… I don’t… well, does saying I met _you_ count? That’s the best thing I can think of.’

    ‘Oh, honey, it only counts because you not only met me, but you charmed the pants of me,’ Bitty finally finds a smile to warm his words, ‘and I’m allowed to say _literally_ , because it’s true.’ He hears Jack’s soft chuckle through the phone line and something in his chest settles. Just clicks right into place and feels complete.

    ‘Thank you, Bits,’ Jack says, quiet, but firm. ‘I just. I wish you were here.’ And it’s crazy. It’s crazy because Jack has to fly out the next day to get to Tampa for their away game, and Bitty has his first day on Monday and needs to prepare, and Jack thinks the train isn’t safe for Bitty so late at night (and it isn’t. Lord knows, Bitty is aware of how dangerous the wrong people can be), but he’s feeling just crazy enough right now that none of that matters.

 

    He hangs up on Jack with the promise he’ll call him back real quick, he just needs to get something important underway. Jack tells him he's just going home to wallow and sleep if he can. Bitty shows up at Jack’s door not ninety minutes later with an overnight bag and the pie he’d made to celebrate Jack’s win (he won’t tell Jack that). Jack opens the door, speechless (not even so much as a ‘how did you get through the doorman?’) and just opens and closes his mouth all goldfish like, until Bitty offers up the pie and says softly, ‘Well, aren’t you gonna let me in, sweetpea?’

    ‘Holy shit, Bits!’ Jack steps back to let him in, ‘come in, come in. What are you…? how did you…? _Bitty_.’ And Jack must decide he doesn’t really need the answers to those questions, because he wraps Bitty up in his arms and just crushes him against his chest until they’re breathing together. Hearts beating in time.

    ‘Well, you know I’m no good at the sexy over the phone stuff,’ Bitty says, pressing himself into Jack, ‘I thought it might be more effective to do the quid pro quo thing in person.’ Jack reaches down to cup Bitty’s face in his hands and kisses the top of his head with reverence. ‘And, you know, you wished I was here, so...’

    Jack just looks at him for the longest time. ‘I think you might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Eric Bittle.’ And maybe Bitty should protest, but honestly, he doesn’t want to. A part of him even thinks it might also be just as true the other way around.

    ‘Come on, sugar, lets get you to bed,’ Bitty pushes Jack back through the hallway and into the bedroom, grabbing some forks from the kitchen on the way. They only have a few hours before they need to be up and ready, but those few hours, resting together, curled up together, are enough to let Jack sleep. He hopes it's enough to get his poor boy through the away game and back to Bitty in one piece.

 

The Falcs lose their away game (heartbreakingly) in overtime, but Jack plays like a god and keeps them fighting till the end, facing the press with grace and pride, and Bitty can tell he’s going to be okay. When Jack calls Bitty to debrief, to go through their sensory exercise, and to hear all about his first day, Bitty feels successful in a way he’s never felt on the ice. Together. They can do this all, together. And maybe, maybe this is what love feels like.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be a little late? Depends how well I can navigate being stuck on this farm with the in-laws. And then driving 15 hours home with a 3 year old and a 1 year old. 
> 
> Lord, I'll be lucky to survive...
> 
>  
> 
> Warning for panic attack:  
> Bitty talks Jack through a panic attack over the phone after a bad loss at home in round four. He helps Jack focus and pulls him back from a very anxious state. We only experience this from Bitty's perspective and there is no discussion of the fears or anxiety that cause it.


	7. Surprise! (Meet the Zimmermanns)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty gets a surprise day off. So he uses it to surprise Jack with a visit to his next game. Then Bob and Alicia show up unexpectedly and surprise them both. 
> 
> Meeting the parents... Bitty is *not* prepared for this...

 

 

Jack’s next game is a Tuesday and it’s at home. When Bitty finds out he finishes work early and has Wednesday off, (something about ethics training and some platform awareness nonsense he has to go in for on Saturday, but who cares! Jack time!) he dances around his bedroom like a dork. He’s loving his internship, and it’s exciting to be _working_ and earning money and being a grown up and all, but right now, it barely registers. Jack has a game tonight, a mere forty minutes away and Bitty doesn’t even have to get up to go to work tomorrow. This could be the last game of Jack’s season (if they lose) and Bitty wants to be there to support him if that happens. But he also really really wants the Falcs to get up tonight, so they can take the series back to Florida and to game seven and then make it into the Cup round. And if Bitty can ease Jack’s nerves a little by being there, can help fan those flames that burn so desperately in Jack to play well and win, then he’s going to do it with gusto.

 

 **Sent:** Can you get me a ticket to the game tonight? I finish early and have tomorrow off.

 

 **Received:** Bits! Yes! I’ll leave it out front for you again.

 

 **Sent:** ty honey. See you tonight (*^ -^*)

 

 **Received:** Oh, hey, if you have stuff you want to drop at the apartment, you can come by early, I’ll get Phil to let you in if I’m not home.

 

 **Sent:** Great! Tell Tater I want a cuddle ♥

 

 **Received:** How about you save your cuddles for me. That man does *not* need more ammunition with which to inflate his own ego.

 

 **Sent:** sweetpea. You’ll be getting more than just a *cuddle*. Don't deny poor Tater the pure joy of an Eric Bittle hug ♥╣[◠‿◕]╠♥  

 

Bitty has to wait three minutes for a reply, and when it comes, Jack’s sent a short video of Tater laughing into the camera, yelling that he can’t wait to give ‘Little B’ a huge hug when he sees him tonight (all in Russian, of course) while Jack valiantly attempts to steal his phone back from being held just out of reach. Bitty laughs and watches it twice more, before completely forgetting to respond.

 

    He ends up going straight to Providence from work in Boston, and makes it to the apartment right around the time that Jack will likely be napping.

    ‘Mister Bittle!’ Phil calls out with a smile as Bitty enters into the lobby, ‘Mister Zimmermann told me to just escort you right up when you got here.’

    ‘Thanks, Phil, that’d be great,’ Bitty says, returning the smile just as warmly.

    ‘I just sent the Zimmermanns up, so it’s good timing.’

    ‘Ah… you what now?’ Bitty scrambles to kick his brain into gear. The Zimmermanns. As in, Jack’s parents. As in, his boyfriend’s parents. Oh, _heck_ no. Bitty is not prepared for this today.

    ‘I think it’s a bit of a surprise visit, from what I can gather,’ Phil says conspiratorially as they ride up in the elevator. ‘Good luck, son.’ Phil holds the doors for Bitty as he swallows and takes a deep breath before stepping out. ‘One more for the Zimmermann party,’ Phil says with a wink, gesturing at the two impossibly elegant people in the hallway with a nod, ‘I think you’ll be fine from here.’

    Bitty stares back at Phil with a distinct lack of amusement as the doors close and he is left standing in the hallway with two people he’s only ever been acquainted with in two dimensions.

    ‘Hello?’ Bob Zimmermann says tentatively, looking for all the world like a Jack, twenty-five years into the future.

    ‘Ah, hi? Hello... Mister Jack’s dad,’ Oh heavens did he really just say that, ‘um, I’m ah, Eric?’ he doesn't mean it to sound like a question. He knows who he is. He just doesn't know if _they_ know…

    ‘Eric?’ Alicia asks. And he knows what he looks like, standing there in his Falconers jersey, overnight bag slung over his shoulder, laptop bag under his arm. Container of lemon bars resting on his outstretched palm (Phil has his tucked safely under the front desk, where Bitty had handed them to him upon arrival).

    ‘Eric Bittle. I’m Jack’s, umm-’ Bitty is saved from explaining himself by a rumpled Jack throwing the door open. He looks comically wide eyed as he takes in the scene in the hallway, all three guests looking at each other and then awkwardly away and back at Jack beseechingly (Bitty) and with curiosity (his parents).

    ‘Maman? Papa?’

    ‘Hi Baby!’ His mother says, jumping forward and wrapping her arms around Jack.  ‘We had a few spare days at the end of the book tour, so we wanted to fly in and surprise you!’

    ‘Surprise!’ his dad adds, coming forward for his own hug. Bitty stands back and waits for a chasm to open up beneath his feet. And, oh Lord, would it hurry up already. Jack looks back to Bitty over his parents’ shoulders with an expression somewhere between fear and embarrassment.

    ‘Maman, Papa, this is Eric Bittle,’ Jack gestures at Bitty as he waves everyone inside and through to the kitchen, guiding Bitty in with a hand to his lower back (and it’s almost a worry, just how much that touch grounds him). ‘You remember I told you, he plays right wing for Samwell. Scored the winning goal in the Frozen Four?’

    ‘Yes!’ his dad says, finally looking past confusion and towards enthusiasm, ‘Ahh, I thought you looked familiar! I watched the tape Jack sent me-’ Bitty looks over at Jack incredulously (he sent his _father_ tape of that game?) ‘- it was one of the best goals I’ve seen in a long time. Including Jack’s!’ Bitty catches Jack’s eyes widen at that, but he doesn’t seem upset. Pleased, might be more accurate.

    ‘Oh, goodness, no, not at all. I mean, I had a great team behind me and it was such a dramatic moment you know, I’m sure that makes it seem more impressive-’ Jack tightens his grip on Bitty, snaking his arm around to grasp his hip and lean against him so that he has all six foot one of Jack Zimmermann bracketing his right side.

    ‘Don’t be modest, Bits. Take the compliment,’ he says with a squeeze, ‘you deserve it.’ He punctuates that thought with a kiss to Bitty’s head. Bitty watches as Jack’s parents look on, fascinated. He fights to keep the flush out of his cheeks. Fights and fails.

    ‘Ahh…’ Bitty says very intelligently, positive he now looks like a dim-witted tomato, ‘I… Thanks, Jack.’ He’s trying not to stare desperately at Jack’s parents, but he’s really worried about their reaction to this. They know Jack’s gay, or bi, (maybe he should actually check that with Jack) right? But they clearly have no idea he’s dating Bitty. ‘It’s um… lovely to meet y’all.’ Jack (here-to-for known as, Mister Supremely Unhelpful), chuckles and ruffles his hand through Bitty’s hair.

    ‘Bits, these are my parents, Alicia and Bob Zimmermann,’ Bitty sort of nods (he does _not_ hastily back out of an almost bow, thank you very much) and waves his hand. ‘Maman, Papa, Eric is my boyfriend.’ Jack gives Bitty’s hip another squeeze as Bitty feels his blush reach all the way to his toes. Bob and Alicia both start speaking in rapid French and Jack replies the same way. Bitty is lost, ping-ponging between their facial expressions, and guessing (with hope) that they are genuinely excited about this.

    ‘Jack. Bob, Darling, switch to English for Eric,’ Alicia says with a smile.

    ‘Sorry, Bits,’ Jack says, sheepish, ‘I was just explaining, I mean… I haven’t spoken to them for weeks, because of the time difference and games and training, it’s been all emails and texts so. I just, I hadn’t had a chance to tell them about you yet.’

    Bitty feels relief sink right through to his fingertips. He doesn’t even think about it when he chirps, ‘well I sure feel loved.’

    Jack chuckles again and nuzzles into Bitty’s hair. ‘Ha-ha. You know I love you, Bits,’ and then freezes. The sound of china smashing turns everyone’s head to Jack’s mother, who has dropped her mug (empty save for the tea bag) to the hardwood floor and is staring at Jack open-mouthed. Bob has a grin the size of Georgia on his face. Bitty is about ready to hyperventilate. ‘I didn’t, I meant I’d love it if… ummm… I love hanging out with you, or. I… I, Bits, I know you were joking, but I-’   

    ‘Oh, honey no, I mean I was, but I do-’

    ‘-I mean it. I do love you. But it’s too early to…’ Jack sighs and takes a deep breath, ‘shit, I’m crazy.’

    ‘You listen here,’ Bitty says, turning into Jack and pressing a palm against his cheek, ‘ _you_ are not crazy. This thing,’ Bitty gestures between the two of them with his free hand, ‘whatever it is we have here, _this_ might be crazy, but you and me? We are two ‘not-crazy’ people just plain ol’ fallin’ for each other.’

    The smile on Jack’s face as he stares down at Bitty is so full of love that Bitty can’t believe anyone would look at them and not just _know_. Alicia has shuffled into her husband and is gripping his hand like a lifeline.

    ‘Jack, honey, maybe we should talk about this later,’ Bitty says, side-eying the Zimmermanns.

    ‘Okay, _honey_ ,’ Jack says, brushing Bitty’s hair across his forehead with gentle fingers.

    ‘Don’t you need to get back to your nap anyway?’

    ‘Eh,’ he shrugs, ‘I’m awake now. How about some tea?’ Jack looks over at his mother, who looks back at him, one hand pressed to her cheek, the other still crushing Bob’s hand between their hips.

    ‘Oh yes, Jack! Right. Tea for everyone.’ She quickly sets about cleaning up the broken mug, cheeks pink and eyes shining, as Jack gets more from the cupboard and Bitty fills the kettle and sets it to boil. Bob stands back to lean against the counter in the kitchen, content to cross his arms and watch them all, until he spots the lemon bars that Bitty had placed on the countertop when they entered. He opens the lid and the scent of lemon and sugar sweeps through the kitchen. Bob turns to Bitty with a smile.

    ‘Are these from you, Eric?’

    ‘Oh, they are, yes. I baked them last night. Tater has a bit of a sweet tooth, you know,’ he says, leaning back against Jack for support. Bob looks up at Jack with a shrewd expression and then back to Bitty.

    ‘You baked them for Tater?’

    ‘Well, for the whole team, really. They were a bit of a hit last time, if I recall correctly.’

    ‘You do,’ Jack supplies, sliding his arms around Bitty to clasp at his waist. ‘You should try one, papa, Eric is an award winning baker you know.’ Bitty elbows back into Jack’s ribs with a scoffed ‘award winning’ under his breath, shaking his head. Honestly, it was one blue ribbon - granted he beat out his own moomaw (she’d never been more proud) - but it was nothing to brag to Jack’s _parents_ about.

    ‘But the team has, ah, met you? Eric?’

    ‘Oh,’ Bitty says quietly, ‘well, yes. They were very... welcoming.’ He tries to sound upbeat but it’s potentially marred by the waiver of worry in his voice. It would make sense for Bob to be hesitant about Bitty meeting the team. He’s worried more, though, about the way Jack’s arms stiffen around him. He says something to his father in French and Bob puts his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

    ‘It’s good, Jack, I think it’s great that your team is supporting you. Both of you.’ he says the last with a look to Bitty. ‘You make a very good looking couple, actually. Very _photogenic_.’

    ‘Papa, _no_. We aren’t doing any press.’ Bitty shifts his focus up to Jack and sees an unfamiliar anger settle into his features. Well, it’s not unfamiliar, he’s just never seen it in real life before.

    ‘Okay, okay! It was merely an observation.’

    ‘Christ, Bob, leave these poor boys alone.’ Alicia squeezes between them and reaches over for the now boiled water. ‘Let’s get this tea going and we can sit down and relax.’

    ‘That sounds lovely, Alicia,’ Bitty says. ‘Would you tell me a little bit about this book tour you mentioned?’ Bitty pats Jack’s forearms as he extricates himself gently from their embrace and follows Alicia into the lounge area. ‘Will you sit with me, Jack?’ he asks, turning to look up at him through his lashes (and Jack is hopeless to deny him).

 

    Bitty uses the warmth of his leg against Jack’s on the couch, the soft touch of his fingers along Jack’s arm, the pull of his voice (sinking just a bit deeper into his accent) and the reassurance of his words to lull Jack back into a relaxed state before his game. While he chats to Alicia and Bob over lemon bars (‘ _tabarnak_ , Eric, these are good’) and peppermint tea, he works his magic to ease everyone into comfort. Soon it’s time for Jack to leave with a kiss goodbye and a promise that he’ll see Bitty after the game. And once he’s gone, Bob and Alicia organise to stay at a hotel (‘we would have anyway, Eric, Jack doesn’t like to be bothered after a game. Don’t worry!’), drive Bitty to the stadium in the car they rented (‘we’re all going there, Eric, it’s no trouble at all’) and then sic him with a barrage of personal questions, including but not limited to: what he’s studying, what year he’s in (they seem very relieved to find he’s a senior next year), what his parents are like (‘oh, my mama’s so excited to meet you, ah, _both_ of you’), how he and Jack met (‘funny story actually…’), and how long they’ve been dating.

 

    ‘So you met… in a club?’ Alicia asks, disbelief clear but not aggressive. ‘Our Jack was in a club?’

    ‘Yes ma'am, it was after the last game of the second round and we really just, bumped into each other I guess.’

    ‘Huh, that’s only two and a half weeks ago,’ Bob calculates. Bitty wrings his hands together in his lap. It is fast. Too fast for them to be saying what they’d been saying today. In front of Jack’s parents. They’re going to think he’s latching onto Jack like a barnacle, taking advantage of his feelings for fame or, money, or something equally nefarious. Bitty is just _not_ _prepared_ for any of this today. Goodness… ‘Eric, that’s not a judgement,’ Bob placates, reaching out a hand to Bitty’s shoulder in comfort, ‘we’ve just, well we’ve never seen our son like this before.’

 

    Bitty takes a deep breath in and out to calm his nerves. When he looks at Jack’s parents he uses his Eric-Bittle-can-take-on-the-world mask of stoicism (he used that one a lot at regionals). ‘Well, this is all pretty new for me too, Mister Zimmermann, but I promise, Jack and I, we’re being real careful with each other,’ Bitty straightens up in his seat as much as possible, ‘and we’re being honest with each other. And we probably look like a couple of fools, but we’re having _fun_ together, and I think it’s good for us,’ Bitty blinks, closing his eyes for just a second longer than he should (he will not cry. Bitty may be a nervous crier, but this time, he can keep it together), ‘I would never hurt him, I swear it.’

    ‘Oh, Eric, we don’t think that,’ Alicia says with some distress, ‘you two are absolutely adorable.’

    ‘We just, well, Jack never talks about this sort of thing. We just wanted to get to hear it from you, Bittle, that’s all.’ Bob says, holding his wife’s hand. ‘I think you two seem like a good team.’

    ‘You certainly know how to calm him down.’

    ‘And to make him happy.’

    ‘Right, he does look awfully happy, Eric.’ Alicia smiles and she looks so like Jack it captures something in Bitty that has him smiling too.

    ‘Well, as long as y’all think I’m adorable, I guess I can live with that,’ he responds with a wink. Alicia and Bob both laugh. ‘I guess we should get to that game, huh?’

 

    They all end up sitting in the family section together. Bitty gets even more curious glances from the Zimmermanns when Madison greets him with a hug that almost lifts him off the ground.

    ‘I was instructed to give you a ‘Mashkov’ hug,’ she says with a grin.

    ‘You’re scarily good at it,’ Bitty replies.

    ‘Well, it was a condition of our marriage, you know, “must be excellent hugger.”’ Madison does the cutest impression of her husband’s accent, her own clipped Iranian offsetting it sweetly. Bitty laughs and steps back so that she can get in her ‘hello’s' with Alicia and Bob.

 

    Watching the game with Jack’s parents is nerve-racking. Until Jack gets a goal eighteen minutes into the first period. And Bitty is out of his chair, hugging Bob (also out of his chair) and Gabby, who essentially doesn’t sit down at all. The second period sees Marty scoring just seven minutes in, snapping it past Vasy and straight into the net. Gabby is shouting, ‘Did you fucking see that!’ while shaking a laughing Madison by the shoulder.  Bob is high-fiving Poots’ dad, sitting right behind them, proudly wearing his son’s jersey. Eric and Alicia are just perched on the edge of their seats, hands clasped, lips bitten, knees jumping up and down. Twelve minutes later Jack takes a chip pass, skates inside, outside on two Tampa defenceman and then backhands it right into the net. Every Falconer fan in the stadium is on their feet (and there are so, so many fans) screaming into centre ice and Jack gets dogpiled by the rest of the team in the celly.

    ‘That’s my SON!’ Bob shouts over them, face full of joy, and Bitty has tears in his eyes he’s so overwhelmed with pride and happiness.

 

    The Bolts come out determined in the third period and Brian Boyle hits back with two goals of his own, but they can’t rally and Tater takes advantage of a sloppy play to turn it over, drive it all the way back to goal and slap it into the top right corner. It’s four goals to two and with less than a minute left on the clock, Poots hits a wrister to Jack that he one-time-slaps into the net so fast, Vasy never has a chance. The crowd are manic, beer is raining down on everyone and not one person remains seated. Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever felt so elated. But then Jack looks over to him, finger pointed straight at Bitty as hats hit the ice and Bitty thinks maybe the world has stopped turning. He can feel his cheeks on fire, tears running down them, Alicia hooking her arm through his left elbow, her other palm on Bob’s jaw as he boxes Bitty in from the right. There’s not a hint of awkwardness in them, they’ve accepted Bitty as family after only a few hours, and it’s so euphoric, it doesn’t even occur to Bitty to question it.

 

The Falconers win five to two and force Tampa into a seventh game.

 

Tater gets his Little B cuddle, much to Jack’s chagrin, (‘Okay, alright, Tater! One minute is all you get, I told you!’)  and he tries unsuccessfully to pry Tater’s arms from around Bitty while Madison films it, keeping a steady hand through the laughter. Bitty just rests his head on Tater’s broad shoulder and relishes the love he feels from everyone around him. The boys are devouring the lemon bars in varying states of undress. Some of the players, the rookies in particular, are shadowing Bob, asking endless questions, hanging off his every word. Gabby and Marty have disappeared and no one is surprised. The press have come and gone and celebrations are underway (but will likely be short and sweet, they have to get into Tampa tomorrow for the decider on Thursday) and Jack, showered and dressed in his game day suit, (oh Lord, Jack Zimmermann in a _suit_ is good for Bitty’s soul) has Bitty by the scruff of his jersey, pulling him into a filthy kiss in the middle of the locker room, amidst catcalls and whistles (Bob’s are the loudest).

‘Let’s not go out. Let’s go home, you and me,’ he whispers to a Bitty that’s just about melting in his arms.

‘I can get behind that,’ Bitty says back and then slaps Jack’s shoulder in mock indignation when Jack laughs at him. ‘That was _not_ a pun!’

‘Whatever you say, Bits. Whatever you say.’

 

Bitty wakes up to the sun streaming in through Jack’s floor to ceiling bedroom windows (‘get some _blinds_ , you heathen,’ Bitty grumbles, snuggling deeper into the covers until he’s buried in them) but forgives him when Jack burrows in right behind him to wrap him up and press warm lips to that magical spot below his right ear. He even lets them sleep in till eight o’clock.

‘Mmm, I could do this forever,’ Bitty sighs into Jack’s bicep. Jack sits up a little and leans over to peer at Bitty.

‘Forever?’

‘I’ll let you know in nine weeks and three days.’ Jack retaliates by rolling them over and trapping Bitty beneath him.

‘I can wait,’ he says with a grin, rocking his hips languidly into Bitty, who arches his back at the sensation and closes his eyes in pleasure.

‘You are a menace, Jack Zimmermann,’ Bitty says, trying and failing not to respond to the press of Jack’s lips on his throat.

‘Yeah but guess what?’ Jack pulls away to nuzzle at Bitty’s nose.

‘What?’ Bitty whispers.

‘I love you.’

Bitty stares at Jack and then bursts into a grin. ‘I know,’ he says, and then laughs and laughs as Jack teases him with tickles, his tongue and then finally his mouth on Bitty. Nine weeks feels like a lifetime away, and Bitty’s pretty sure he loves Jack, too. But he’s going to wait to _make_ sure. Because this time, he’s going to do everything right.

   

 

   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, more fluff... it's really all just fluff.
> 
> I may have said this before (maybe definitely) but you all are the bees knees. Seriously. Thanks for reading. Thanks even more for commenting. I get your comments and it's like a big ol' hug on a bad day (my life is just a series of bad days at the moment).
> 
> I just survived probably the worst week of my life. Worst Christmas ever. But it's over now. We're home again. We're alive. Time to get on with it :) so...
> 
> Next chapter in a week.
> 
> Keep those comments coming... I want to hear what y'all are thinking ❤❤❤❤
> 
> p.s. if you want to, come yell at me on tumblr: [darter-blue.tumblr.com](https://darter-blue.tumblr.com)  
> or twitter: [beclouise13](https://twitter.com/beclouise13) I love being yelled at ❤
> 
> Also pps. Thanks to jujubeans. Every darn week. Best beta ever xxx (╯3╰)
> 
> ppps. This: [tart-lemon-bars](http://allrecipes.com.au/recipe/21231/tart-lemon-bars.aspx)  
> is an awesome recipe. For the Americans, plain flour is all purpose flour and the white sugar in the recipe should be granulated sugar (caster sugar) and 250g of butter is two sticks :) also I added some lemon zest, because I love it ❤ enjoy!


	8. A Shitty Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty catches up on some Shitty and Lardo time.

Bitty is busy converting his email from Tater into a recipe he can send his mama and Aunt Judy (though maybe he shouldn’t be encouraging those two to cook off against each other, it gets pretty brutal) when his phone lights up with messages. Messages from one Shitty B Knight. 

 

Thursday 8:27 pm

**Received:** BITS

**Received:** WHERE ARE YOU

**Received:** YOU HAVE DROPPED OFF THE FACE OF THE PLANET GET YOUR CUTE BUTT ON A BUS HERE RIGHT NOW

**Received:** Okay, Lardo’s telling me not to yell at you because it’s ‘not cool’.

**Received:** But I haven’t heard from you in a week and now I think you lied when you said us leaving would be like tearing your sweet little heart out of your ribcage with our bare hands and then throwing it on the floor and stomping on it ‘til you died.

**Received:** HOWEVER! I’m extending an invitation for you to join us at our tiny fucking piece of shit apartment in Boston for the weekend. 

**Received:** Because we love you

**Received:** And I miss your face you gorgeous mother fucker.

 

**Sent:** Shitty, I swear you are more dramatic than any Southerner I’ve ever met. That’s quite an accomplishment. 

**Sent:** I’ve got work tomorrow in Boston, so maybe I could come up tonight, then head into work, stay the rest of the weekend with you and then head home after work on Monday?

**Sent:** Do you think that will be enough time for you to love me appropriately?

 

**Received:** Bits!!!!! You're alive!!!!! And FUCK YES COME RIGHT NOW. Also, I didn't think we were allowed to love you appropriately anymore. I thought that was your ‘I’m too good to be a normal human I have to be more beautiful and talented than all of you small people’ boy’s job. 

 

Bitty doesn't bother to respond because he both, knows Shitty is baiting him and, has been one hundred percent in love with Jack Zimmermann since he started playing with the Falcs six years ago. Bitty will likely be sitting in Shitty’s lap watching the game tomorrow night and having the life squeezed out of him. He needs to prepare for that. 

 

Lardo, wondrous, darling woman that she is, picks him up from work on Friday, throws his bags into the back seat and steals two of the double choc chunk cookies Bitty baked last night, to scoff down while she drives. 

‘Aw mm ffck s’good,’ she turns to Bitty imploringly, swallows the last bite and pleads, ‘please don’t leave us, Bits. I fucking miss your cooking so bad, kid.’

‘Honey, you left  _ me _ . Don’t even start with that look you're giving me right now. I mean it,’ Bitty puts as much authority into his voice as the twang will allow, ‘you can’t guilt trip me into coming down here just to bake for y’all.’

‘Harsh. But fair.’

‘So how’s the ah,  _ cohabitation _ going? Any first-degree murder attempts you want to get off your chest?’

‘Yeah, but only like, one. Maybe two. So… it's going better than expected.’

‘Well, that’s nice, honey. I’m glad for you both.’ Bitty thinks on his next words before he lets them out. ‘Do you think… Do you think you love him?’ Lardo barely manages not to side swipe a van when she overcorrects the crazy twist of the steering wheel that comment initiates. 

‘That… that isn’t…’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine,’ Bitty hurries to interrupt the uncomfortable hesitation, ‘don’t answer that. That was a dumb question.’

‘It’s not dumb, it’s just not… easy to answer.’ Bitty is reluctant to ask if that’s because she doesn’t want to tell him or because she doesn’t know. She gives Bitty the side eye and reads his mind anyway. ‘Shitty is… like we’re living together. And we’re sleeping together. And he’s the first person I want to talk to when something great or fucked up happens, but I don’t know if that means I love him, or I just...  _ tolerate _ him better than I do other people.’ She shrugs her shoulders, keeping her hands on the wheel, ‘I don’t even know what love  _ is _ , you know?’

‘Sort of,’ Bitty replies. He gets that it might not always be obvious, especially if you don’t have a frame of reference. ‘It’s all relative anyway, right? One person’s love might be another person’s casual affection.’

‘Exactly, Bits, exactly.’

 

Bitty knows he has a frame of reference though. He and Hunter were together for eight months. And they exchanged I love you’s about five months in. And Bitty distinctly remembers feeling a pressure, like Hunter had been waiting for it, was throwing (super  _ not _ vague) hints into otherwise regular conversations and pressing and pressing at Bitty without actually using the words. So Bitty had tried to subtly add it into a late night chat as they curled together in his bed (‘Ha, I love that about you {he has no memory of what that thing was},’ ‘You love me?’, ‘I ...yeah… yes. I do.’ ‘Thank god, Eric, I was worried you were never gonna say it.’) Bitty can’t even recall if Hunter had said it back or not. Because it hadn’t mattered at all. All that had mattered was that Hunter was happy with Bitty. Because then Bitty could feel like everything was going well. On track. The fact that he didn’t necessarily even  _ like _ Hunter was just a puckered up bud of an idea, buried in the back of Bitty’s brain. 

‘Earth to Bits,’ Lardo is laughing, prodding him in the solid muscle of his abdomen. 

‘Ow! Lord, you have sharp fingernails,’ Bitty replies, rubbing the spot she had stabbed and flinching back from a second round. ‘I’m listening, I’m listening.’

‘We’re  _ here _ Bitty,’ she says, rolling her eyes, ‘ I said it like three times.’ 

‘Ah.’

‘Yeah, “ah”.’

‘Its… charming?’ The car is pulled up at the curb of an apartment building that has well and truly said goodbye to its halcyon days. Lardo just scoffs and grabs the cookies to take inside. Bitty grabs his bags and follows her, skipping across the crappy pavement with effortless grace (it’s just entrenched in him now). 

‘Brace yourself,’ Lardo says, and it’s all the warning Bitty gets before he’s tackled to the ground by a six foot wall of moustachioed muscle. He’s not proud of the shriek that accompanies it, nor the three seconds of full blown panic at being grabbed and forced to the floor. But his therapy has taught him to think before he reacts. He’s aware enough to realise there’s no threat, it’s just Shitty and his ridiculously, inappropriately, violent affection. 

‘Christ on a cracker! Shitty!’

‘BITS!’ he shouts, rather loudly, right into Bitty’s eardrum, ‘WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN US!’

‘Oh, Lord,’ Bitty twists in Shitty’s arms to look up at Lardo, ‘is he gonna be like this all weekend?’

‘Nah, he’ll get bored after, like, an hour,’ she responds, prying open the container of cookies to get at as many as she can fit in her hands. ‘You’re gonna make more of these, right?’ Bitty just rolls his eyes and nods, resigning himself to an hour of shouty, floor-cuddles. 

 

***

 

‘Bits, get your cute butt in here! It’s starting!’

Bitty slides into the living room on his socked feet (ah, hardwood floors).  He’s left a voicemail on Jack’s phone, letting him know he’s thinking of him and wishing him luck (yes, he’s aware, he’s a sap) and now he can curl up next to Shitty and watch the game, heart in his throat. And  _ hoo boy _ , is his heart in his throat. Neither team manages to score in the first period. Food and drink remain untouched on the box Shitty and Lardo are using as a coffee table as all three living room inhabitants sit still in crazy-focus mode. Nothing can make Bitty believe this is serious more than the fact that Shitty has not yelled at the refs even  _ once _ . And then one minute and fifty five seconds into the second quarter, Thirdy gets the puck, brings it into the middle, somehow keeps it on his stick, and flicks it right to the roof of the net. Jack, Guy and Tater pile onto him and Shitty flies off the couch to take a victory lap of the living room (he doesn’t have far to go). Bitty, for his part, breathes a sigh of relief and remains otherwise frozen in place. 

The Bolts get an answering goal halfway through the second period but, not thirty seconds later, straight from Jack’s face-off pass, Thirdy takes the puck round the net and swings around to slip it past Vasy and in for the Falconers’ second goal. Bitty, Lardo and Shitty slam into each other and cling desperately. 

‘They could do this, they can fucking  _ win _ , Bits!’ Shitty cries, arm hooked around BItty’s shoulders. And Bitty will absolutely believe that when he sees it. Tampa can barely make it back to their goal after that, and the Falconers keep all the pressure on the Bolts’ defence. Time ticks down, Bitty’s knees bouncing uncontrollably, Shitty has his hands tugging at his hair and Lardo is pacing back and forth along the kitchen bench behind the couch. Suddenly the buzzer sounds. The game is over. The Falcs all rush onto centre ice, leaving Tampa shocked and devastated where they stand, and crush each other jubilantly. 

Bitty won’t be surprised if Shitty and Lardo get complaints on the amount of noise the three of them are making right now, but he doesn’t care. They did it. They’re in the Stanley Cup Final. For the second year in a row. Back to back Stanley Cup runs is unheard of for an expansion team this early. Jack will either be out of his mind with excitement and pride for his team, or he’ll be a nervous wreck. Bitty has to wait to find out. 

‘Fucking, Randall Robinson has the best game of his life in a clincher!’ Shitty shouts and smacks a prickly kiss on Bitty's cheek before chasing a laughing Lardo down to lift her over his shoulder and run another victory lap. 

 

Jack is sweaty and gorgeous in the presser, looking so proud of Thirdy, every time he or the media mentions his name, he grins openly. It's a wildly different Jack than the media is used to and they seem at a bit of a loss as to how to deal with him. 

 

_ ‘Jack _ ,  _ the Sharks won in six games yesterday. What are the Falconers’ chances of beating them this year?’ _

_ ‘Jack, your first game’s at home on Monday, what will the team be doing this weekend?’ _

 

‘The Captain’ll be doing  _ you _ at some stage I'm guessing, right Bits!’ 

‘Shitty Knight! Mind your manners.’

 

***

 

‘Jack! Honey, you won!’ Bitty exclaims, as soon as Jack picks up. 

‘We did, bud. We did.’ He sounds happy, but exhausted. Relieved more than anything, probably. 

‘When do you get home, sweetpea?’ Bitty asks softly. 

‘Most of the boys want the night to celebrate so we’ll be coming home tomorrow. Are you working though?’

‘Yeah, sweets, I gotta work ‘til at least four. And then I was planning on coming back here to Shitty and Lardo’s for the rest of the weekend. But I could come to you after work on Monday? You have your first game, right? Maybe I could come and watch, would that be okay?’

‘I would love that, babe, I’ll get your ticket sorted.’

\- ‘Tell him to come for dinner tomorrow!’ Shitty yells from the lounge, though Bitty has to lean away from the phone to hear him clearly.

‘Lord have mercy,’ he says under his breath and then back to Jack, ‘Shitty wants me to invite you for dinner tomorrow.’

‘Oh, sure! That would be nice.’

‘Bless your giant, polite-Canadian self,’ Bitty says with a sigh, ‘but it probably won’t be.’

‘Eric,’ Jack castigates.

‘ _ Jack _ ,’ Bitty parrots facetiously, ‘Just promise me you won’t let Shitty bully you.’

‘The moustache guy?’ Jack knows full well it is.

‘Right.’

‘I think I can take him.’

‘I don’t doubt you darlin’,’ Bitty says fondly. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t though, just the same.’ Jack chuckles in reply. 

‘Okay, Bits,’ Jack says, ‘love you.’

‘See you tomorrow, honey.’ He hits ‘end call’ and takes a breath to compose himself. Now he has to work tomorrow  _ and  _ plan a dinner. ‘Bless your heart, Shitty Knight.’

 

***

 

Work is boring enough that Bitty can iron out the menu plans while he pretends to listen to his ethics training. He’s got Lardo’s car and pulls into the grocery store on his way home. A stir fry is as good as its going to get with so little time to prepare (Jack will be there in a little over an hour and a half) and he baked last night - strawberry rhubarb pie  (the rhubarb was beautiful, though it's a little early in the season for the strawberries, so he used less lemon juice and added a little brown sugar along with the cinnamon and vanilla bean to balance it out) - with strict instructions for it  _ not _ to be touched. On pain of death (he doesn’t quite believe Shitty took him seriously though). 

When Jack arrives, Shitty is civil and Lardo is, as always, imperturbable. Bitty fires up the wok (the rice is already ready, of course). He uses pork belly and caramelises it with a little sugar to make a sweet, sticky sauce and then tosses the greens through soy and garlic to keep them crisp and salty. Jack watches the whole thing with wide eyes and an elevated heart beat (Bitty can practically hear it) and makes such delicious noises while he eats, Bitty is squirming in his seat. When Shitty and Lardo get up to clear the plates and do the dishes, Jack leans over to gently press his lips to BItty’s temple.

‘You are so amazing, Eric,’ he says into Bitty’s ear, ‘I  _ missed  _ you,’ he tilts Bitty’s face towards him with a finger under his chin and kisses the corner of his lips, ‘love you,’ he whispers into Bitty’s open mouth and presses his own lips there gently. They are interrupted, before it can go anywhere, by Shitty clearing his throat loudly across the kitchen bench. 

‘What did I hear you just say?’ Shitty asks, voice unusually cold.

‘Huh?’ Jack replies, less than eloquently.

‘Shitty, no,’ Bitty says, fixing his friend with a glare. ‘If you heard anything just now, it’s because you are eavesdropping something awful.’ He turns to look at Shitty and put weight behind his words, ‘and you’ve got no business doing so.’

‘Eric, he just said he  _ loves _ you.’

‘Shits,’ Lardo says from behind him, laying a hand on his arm in warning.

‘Shitty, what did I just say?’ Bitty says, anger at the edge of his tone.

‘It’s okay, Bits, he’s your friend. He’s allowed to have an opinion.’ Jack looks over at Shitty, moving his hand to rest on Bitty’s knee (to calm him, or claim him, Bitty’s not sure).  ‘Why does that make you angry, Shitty?’ 

‘You’ve known each other for less than three weeks, how could you possibly know you love him?’ Shitty asks, belligerent. 

‘When you met Eric, Shitty, how long did it take you to fall in love with him? Honestly?’ Jack asks. Shitty’s look at Jack is calculating and wary.

‘I don’t recall,’ he says, looking away. Lardo coughs behind his back a throws a ‘bullshit’ in, for good measure. ‘Hey!’ Shitty turns to her, betrayed.

‘After the third pie, you said, and I quote, “I think I really love that kid”.’ Bitty tries to stay mad, but that is just too sweet. He never realised Shitty had been so fond of him so fast. ‘That was two weeks into Bitty’s Frog year.’ 

‘Lardo, why?’ Shitty cries. She shrugs and lifts her hands in mock supplication. ‘Okay,’ he turns back to a waiting Bitty and Jack, ‘but that’s different.’

‘Why?’ Jack asks, calm, serious.

‘We weren’t  _ sleeping _ together.’

‘So is it the sex that bothers you? Or the love?’ Jack counters, and Bitty sits back a little to watch this play out. 

‘I don’t... I’m not… look, sex makes everything messy-’

‘-chyeah,’ Lardo snorts. Shitty ignores her.

‘-and this is all going to blow up in his face, eventually. I won’t be there to pick up the pieces. I’m not  _ there _ anymore.’ Shitty is looking a little distressed now and Bitty feels for him, he does. 

‘Shitty, you’re not that far away,’ Bitty argues.

‘If you think  _ Eric _ is the one that’s going to fall to pieces if this all ends, then I don’t think you actually know him as well as you think you do.’ Jack says, totally sure of himself. ‘He has a strength, a greater sense of  _ self _ than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.’

 

Shitty, Lardo and Bitty all stop and look at Jack. It’s kind of an ‘ah hah’ moment for all of them. Shitty and Lardo, because they look at Jack and see, for the first time, that he is one hundred percent serious about this relationship. He  _ sees  _ Bitty, for real. And Bitty, well Bitty can’t deny any longer that he’s in love. Whatever that means. He feels it. Some  _ thing _ inside him that looks at Jack and sees the future.  _ His _ future.  _ Their _ future. Together. 

‘Did you need help with the dishes?’ Jack says, breaking through their collective stupor. Lardo shakes her head and Shitty just stands there, head tilted, towel in hand.

‘Nah, brah, we’re good in here,’ he says finally. Jack nods his head and just smiles, smug, like he’s won a battle. He turns his palm up on Bitty’s knee and Bitty rests his own in it, Jack threading their fingers together and leaning into Bitty’s shoulder.

 

‘Thank you,’ Bitty says, resting his cheek on Jack’s shoulder. 

‘Bits,’ Jack says, tucking Bitty’s head under his chin, ‘you know it's all true, don’t you? I mean, it’s like you said: we’re just two, not-crazy people just plain old falling in love. Right?’

‘Right,’ Bitty says, ‘we sure are.’ He squeezes Jack’s hand. ‘Ha, you think you love me now?’ he teases, ‘wait till you’ve had my dessert. It’s gonna knock your socks off, mister!’

‘Bits, not in front of your friends,’ Jack says, scandalised.

‘I meant the pie!’ he cries, pulling away to see Jack’s face and smacking him on the shoulder when he realises he’s laughing. ‘Oh my  _ lord _ , you are gonna be the death of me, Jack Zimmermann.’

 

And Bitty’s probably right, but  _ gee whiz, _ what a way to go. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! So I am a total hot mess atm. But I love this fandom, and I love my readers. All of you that take the time to comment, whatever the content, even just to call me out on something, you make me a better writer.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> This was sort of a bonus chapter, inspired by you all. Expect the chapter count to go up by a squidge... or two. Oops!
> 
> anyway, ttyl
> 
> ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ
> 
> oh yeah and, jujubeans, you are AMAZING! have I told you that lately?


	9. The Cup series begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Falconers play their first game for the Cup. Bitty and Jack learn a few things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, sorry for the delay, but here it is, just for you ;)
> 
> As always, thank you. Just, thank you, thank you, thank you ❤
> 
> Trigger warning: Panic attack, see end notes for spoilery details...

 

 

Bitty stays at Shitty and Lardo’s for the rest of the weekend and while it’s lovely to be around them again, the time has left a bittersweet sadness in its wake. Bitty is afraid now, of how much of his friends’ lives he’ll be missing out on this year.

 

He calls to check in on Dex after spending the whole weekend away. Bitty needs clarification that he is indeed alive, and that the house is still standing.

‘Bitty, I _can_ survive without you... you know we are exactly the same age. And yes I can feed myself, I make better gnocchi than you-.’ Bitty interrupts to gasp at that injustice.

‘-You do not!’

‘You know I do,’ Dex says with a dramatic sigh.

‘I know no such thing!’ Bitty would stomp his feet if Lardo wasn’t watching him, half dead and poised over the coffee pot.

‘Bitty, the house voted, and I won.’

‘Okay, _A..._ ,’ Bitty starts, hand on hip, ‘it was rigged, because you are the only one who can fix the thermostat and we were having a cold snap. Those boys were just pandering. And _two_ ,’ Bitty is now holding up two fingers that Dex absolutely cannot see, ‘Your family is Irish, and everyone knows you have an unnatural affinity to potatoes. So it doesn’t count.’

‘Oh my god, Bitty.’ You can practically hear Dex rolling his eyes. Lardo is shaking her head at Bitty with a knowing grin. Almost as if she’s heard this argument a million times before.

 

It’s nice to hear Dex laugh, though. He worries about him and Nursey. Has been watching the angry push and pull as they dance around each other with some trepidation. He’s fairly certain Nursey is going to break his poor boy’s heart. But Bitty’s job is not to question Dex's choices, his job is to help him pick up the pieces if shit hits the fan. This time _he_ can be the one to fill _Dex’s_ half eaten tubs of Haagen Dazs with chocolate cherry Baileys, and hold him close to his chest while he cries.

 

Bitty lets Dex get back to bed and gets his six miles in before breakfast (mostly because it means he doesn’t have to feel guilty about maple bacon french toast). He says goodbye to his best friends (dramatically and with tears {Shitty} and pleas for baked good care packages {Lardo}) as he catches the train to work in his favourite (lucky) blue shirt and chinos.

 

By the time he makes it to the game he’s changed into light blue jeans and a Falconers hoodie (signed by Tater - Jack had given it to him Saturday night with mock annoyance and an adorable scowl). His ticket is, of course, held under ‘Itty Bits’ and the attendant just hands it over as soon as she sees him.

‘Thanks, Kathy!’ Bitty says as he breezes past to get to the stands and to his seat. The Zimmermanns are in attendance, busy holding question time with all the excited family members, some of whom are seeing their loved one in their first Stanley Cup game and bouncing up and down in their seats.

Bitty sits with the less inundated Madison, who is such delightful company he actually gets distracted from the game (he won't tell Jack this). He learns her real name is Mahdokht, but as a teenager, moving to the States and going into her junior year of high school, she changed it, and often regrets it. Bitty thinks it’s beautiful and resolves to call her Mahdokht if it's what she prefers, getting another Mashkov hug for his efforts.

‘Have you been practising? My bones feel even more crushed than last time!’

‘I’m just getting you ready for Alexei, I have to condition you so he doesn’t actually snap something,’ she says with a laugh. They turn back to the game only to jump immediately from their seats, trampled by Thirdy’s wife, Carrie, as she celebrates his popping in the first goal of the night. Gabby is enthusiastically strangling her with the crook of her elbow as she shouts encouragement at Carrie’s husband.

Jack backs it up a minute later with the fastest slapshot Bitty has ever seen, right past Martin Jones on the Sharks’ goal and into the top right corner of the net. Bitty can almost hear Chowder crying into his giant, plush, SJ Sharkie. Bad Bob startles Bitty with a one-armed hug from behind (Bitty is just as surprised that he doesn’t actually panic, but Bad Bob and Jack apparently use the same after shave, and his PTSD doesn’t even trigger) and Alicia ruffles his hair as they’re caught on the jumbotron.

Everyone's stress ramps up in the second period as the Sharks get two unanswered goals of their own and the third period begins with both teams looking focussed and determined. For all their shots at goal (almost double that of the Sharks) they can’t manage to convert. Then two and a half minutes away from going into overtime, Jack flies down centre ice, slaps a pass directly by a stickless defender to a waiting Tater, who shoots straight through Jones’ legs to take the Falcs to three. Bitty and Mahdokht clasp hands all the way to full time as the Falcs hold onto their lead. The buzzer sounds and everyone piles on to make a giant stack of sweaty zealots, thrilled to see their boys go up in the first game of the Cup round.

 

    Though Jack’s parents make it an early night (‘don’t want to, what do you kids call it? cockblock anybody?’ Bob says to a mortified Jack), Bitty goes out with the team and their partners to get food and drinks at a pretty seedy place (seedy bars mean less expensive infrastructure for the boys to damage with drunken enthusiasm) and speaks as much Russian to Tater as he can manage. The way his face lights up at the exchange is worth the late night study sessions for a language he’s not even getting credit for. Jack just sits back and watches them with the sweetest smile, Bitty has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from squirming in his seat.

    ‘Mahdokht is just the sweetest thing, Alexei,’ Bitty says, reaching up into Tater’s ear so he can be heard, ‘She takes such good care of me at the games.’ Tater leans back and turns towards Bitty with a look of surprise. ‘What?’ Bitty says, worried he might have upset him somehow.

    ‘Принцесса tell you her birth name?’

    ‘Oh,’ Bitty says, blushing a little, ‘yes, is that… is that okay?’

    ‘Little B,’ Tater says seriously, ‘this make you family.’ And he grabs Bitty’s face to kiss him on either cheek. ‘Jack!’ he shouts over the table to where Jack and Snowy are deep in tactical conversation, ‘Jack! Little B is family now. You make him happy, I’m happy. You make him sad? I’m come for you.’

    ‘Why is everyone so worried about Bits, eh? How come nobody’s worried about me?’ Jack replies, crossing his arms.

    ‘Jack, honey. You have nothing to worry about,’ Bitty says sweetly. Jack gives a little ‘humpf’ but looks pretty pleased with himself.

‘So cute,’ Tater says and gives Bitty’s shoulder a gentle shove. It sends him flying though, and Alexei has to rush to snatch him back by the arm before he falls off the chair. ‘Oops! Forgetting you so tiny, Itty Bits.’

‘Alexei Mashkov, I am not _tiny_!’ But Tater just smiles and ruffles BItty’s hair.

‘You are tiny, but you are fierce, Little B. I’m not forgetting again.’

 

***

 

    Bitty and Jack have trudged back to Jack’s apartment, a little bit tipsy (Bitty) and a lot exhausted (Jack). They both head to the bedroom without discussion and Jack collapses back onto the bed like a starfish. Bitty crawls up onto the bed and straddles Jack’s waist, leaning over him to rest his head in his hands on Jack’s chest.

    ‘You should clean your teeth, sweetpea, and get this suit off. I’ll get you a glass of water.’ Bitty says with two little taps to Jack’s shoulder.

    ‘Yeah, okay.’ he replies, rolling over reluctantly as Bitty stands up, heaving himself off the bed.

‘Jack,’ Bitty calls, walking back from the kitchen, feeling light and calm in a way he doesn’t experience much, ‘I’m really happy.’

‘Whas zat Bit?’ Jack calls back, trying to talk around his toothbrush.

‘I just,’ Bitty leans against the doorframe in the ensuite, ‘I know it hasn’t been very long, and I know we haven’t like, saturated ourselves in each other yet-’

Jack raises his eyebrows suggestively, toothbrush forgotten for the moment.

‘Lord, you know what I mean,’ Bitty says, kicking out with his foot to tap Jack’s shin, ‘I’m just, I feel really happy. With this, with you,’ he says. ‘With us.’

Jack reaches out to clasp Bitty’s hand and thread their fingers together, he brushes his thumb along Bitty’s knuckle and goes to speak, holding out his finger (hand still holding his toothbrush) and then spits into the sink. Bitty rolls his eyes and mutters ‘charming’ under his breath but Jack just smiles.

    ‘Honestly, Bits, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my whole life. I think you’re amazing, you know that, right?’

    ‘I’m starting to get that feeling, yes,’ Bitty says with a smirk. Jack smiles back and then laughs when Bitty hip checks him to get to the sink and clean his own teeth. He pops a tablet from the blister pack of his Lexapro into his palm and takes it with Jack’s now refilled glass of water. Jack raises an eyebrow at him and so he shows him the label on the box, giving it a little shake. Jack nods and pulls his own box out of the medicine cabinet, holding it out.  Bitty can see that it’s Xanax, though Jack puts it back on the shelf without taking any.

    ‘I took it after the game,’ he explains, closing the cabinet.

    ‘Two peas in a pod huh?’

    ‘Sweetpeas in a pod, eh?’ Jack chirps, smacking Bitty on the butt as he walks past to get to the bedroom. Bitty chuckles at him as he walks away.

    ‘Hopeless,’ he says, shaking his head and squeezing the toothpaste onto his brush. ‘Gorgeous, but hopeless.’

 

Bitty collapses into bed next to Jack and leans over to scritch at the back of his head as Jack switches the lamp off.

‘Night, honey,’ he whispers.

‘G’night, Bits,’ Jack mumbles back, and it’s only seconds before Bitty can hear his gentle snoring. He rolls into the warmth of Jack’s body and lets sleep take him too.  

 

Light is barely creeping into the bedroom when he feels Jack tracing his fingers up and down his arm.

‘You awake, babe?’

‘Hmm,’ Bitty replies, too sleepy to speak. Jack tucks an arm around Bitty’s waist and presses his body into Bitty’s back.

‘Sleepy?’

‘Yeah,’ Bitty mumbles, ‘or no,’ he says, shifting slightly to turn into Jack’s arms, ‘what did you have in mind?’

‘I was thinking, maybe, I could put my mouth on you Bits, what do you think?’ Bitty closes his eyes to the image of Jack with his mouth around him and bites his lip against the hunger it stirs in him. ‘Mmm, I love that look on you,’ Jack whispers into Bitty’s neck before kissing it softly.

‘Jack,’ Bitty says, breathless at the sensation of Jack’s lips on his throat. ‘Jack, last time, remember last time?’

‘Yeah, Bits, I remember,’ Jack replies, hooking his fingers through the sleeves of Bitty’s tank to pull them down his arms and run his tongue over his collarbone and down his chest.

‘Can I, oh god,’ he arches his back up into Jack, ‘did you, do you like that, the hair pulling? I know we didn't really talk about it.’

‘I, yeah,’ Jack says, lifting his head to look down at Bitty, ‘I did, I do, I mean.’ He slides back up Bitty’s body so that their faces are level and rests with his elbow on the bed next to Bitty. ‘Do you? Ah, do you... have anything like that? You maybe want to try, or…’

‘No. No not really,’ Bitty says, turning into Jack. ‘I guess, I don't mind you manhandling me a little bit, I mean, that's kinda sexy. But I don't, um, I don’t like, pain. I don't like being hurt, so…’ He looks over at Jack, concerned he might be disappointed, but instead he looks relieved.

‘That’s okay, that’s good Bits.’ he says, ‘I don't think I’d like hurting you, so it’s really perfect, actually.’ Bitty can only smile at his big, gentle boyfriend.

‘Have you always? Liked that, I mean. When did you know?’ he asks, curious. He isn’t the most experienced when it comes to sex. Hunter was his first boyfriend and second sexual partner, and neither of those experiences had left Bitty feeling very well informed. He watches Jack take his time to answer, weigh his words, before he speaks.

‘Me and Kenny, Kent,’ he clarifies, and Bitty nods his understanding. ‘We were, well we were young and we were dealing with so much anger and stress and fear. I liked...’ Jack takes a breath and Bitty keeps still so as not to distract him. ‘It felt good to be able to focus all that pain into a physical thing, you know?’ Bitty nods again. ‘And Kent, he liked to let all that anger out. It was... well it wasn’t healthy. It was pretty destructive actually.’

‘Oh, honey,’ Bitty whispers. Jack sighs and cups his palm against Bitty’s cheek.

‘I haven’t really tried it again with anyone else. But with you that was... I mean, that felt so good Bits I can’t even... I didn’t know it could feel like that you know?’ Bitty leans his face into Jack’s palm and reaches out his own palm to rest against Jack’s heart. ‘It didn’t hurt much really, just enough that it kind of, intensified everything,’

‘Yeah?’ Bitty asks.

‘Yeah.’

‘Well I’m not angry, at least certainly not at you. But I like making you feel good, honey. It felt, it felt _really good_ to make you feel like that, sweetheart.’

‘You liked it too?’

‘I felt, um. Like, powerful, I guess? I liked it. A lot, actually.’ Bitty can feel himself blushing at that confession. But Jack is grinning at him now, and that carries its own kind of power.

 

It doesn’t take long for the smiles to turn to kisses, soft at first and then harder and more desperate as their bodies take over and their clothes are tossed aside. Jack maneuvers Bitty so that his knees crowd around Jack’s face. Bitty’s hands are braced against the bed head and he uses the leverage to control the speed and pressure of his cock sliding into Jack. Jack smiles and runs his hands up Bitty’s thighs to grab two palmfulls of Bitty’s ass. He nods his head for Bitty to take control, and Bitty lowers one hand to hold Jack’s head, taking a chance and pushing a little harder than he would normally feel comfortable pushing.

 

And lord, the sounds Jack makes… the look in his eyes when he turns them up to Bitty. It’s like Bitty is this magnificent thing and Jack has been given a gift. Bitty just, he has to hold on, he has to try not to break open, but it’s a combination of the rush of being so good, the feel of Jack’s tight, warm mouth around him, his tongue against him, Jack’s hair through his fingers, the total control he has over the situation, and he has to give in to it. Jack lets him pull back and come down his chest. Looking down at him, covered in the mess Bitty’s made of him, eyes wide, breathing laboured, cock hard against his stomach, Jack is the most gorgeous thing Bitty has ever seen.

 

Bitty uses a slicked up hand to stroke Jack through to his own orgasm as he kisses into his open mouth, tasting himself there, biting down on Jack’s lip until he cries out and spills over. They laugh at how sticky they are, that they’ve probably ruined the sheets (next time Bitty will put a towel down) and at Jack’s grumbling stomach.

‘Alright, sweetpea, let's get you into the shower so we can have breakfast.’ Bitty says, climbing off the bed and pulling Jack with him.

‘What time do you have to be at work?’ Jack asks, checking the time on his watch and showing it to Bitty.

‘I need to get the train, so I probably have to leave here at eight.’ Which only gives him an hour to spend with Jack and get ready.

‘I can drop you, babe, you don’t have to catch the train.’

‘Thank you, honey,’ he says, kissing Jack as he steps past him into the shower. The double heads make it easy for them to get clean together and they are both content to exchange nothing more than soft kisses after their late night and busy morning.

Jack cooks Bitty bacon and scrambled eggs for breakfast and refills his coffee mug twice. ‘I could get used to this you know,’ Bitty says.

‘Oh, I’m counting on it,’ Jack says with a wink and Bitty can feel the blush in his cheeks.

 

Jack drops Bitty at work at five minutes to nine with a kiss and a promise to call soon. Bitty makes his way up the elevator and through the office to his desk. He can feel eyes on him, but he doesn’t understand why until he gets the computer started up at his desk. And he sees the story in his google news feed. It’s a grainy picture of him and Jack at the club last night. Bitty is practically sitting in Jack’s lap and Jack has his mouth against Bitty’s ear. The clickbait headline reads:

 **‘Jack Zimmermann, hockey’s notorious badboy:** **secret toyboy exposed.’**

Bitty can feel his heartbeat elevate. He can feel his breathing getting shallow. he can feel his hands start to shake, his chest start to vibrate with intense energy, but he breathes through it. He counts backwards from ten. He runs through the exercises he’s been doing with Jack. Jack, oh God, Jack. He has to call Jack. He has to call his parents. He should call Shitty to come and pick him up, but all he can think of is how disappointed Shitty will be that he was right. It’s overwhelming.

 

He blinks to try and see his screen clearly because he should call somebody, right? He can’t sit here, having a panic attack in the cubicle he shares with the other intern, freaking out the staff members of a job he’s been at for a _week._ He needs to get it together and breathe. Just breathe. Jack. He should call Jack. He won’t be mad. He knew this was going to happen. He won’t be mad… what if he is though?

 

Bitty walks as stiff and purposeful as he can to the bathroom, ignoring the stares and the whispers and locking himself in the toilet. Then he calls the only person his fingers will seem to let him dial. He waits while it connects and hears the voice on the other end answer with a soft greeting. It calms him enough that he leans against the wall and places a palm against his chest to take a deep breath.

‘You there, honey?’ His mama’s voice comes through the phone.

‘Oh, mama,’ he says with a sigh, ‘I’ve got myself into a bit of a pickle.’ And he has to catch the sob before it escapes. She can hear it in his voice though. She always can.

‘Dicky, darlin’, whatever it is, it’s gonna be okay. You hear me?’

‘I hear you, mama.’

‘You are my beautiful boy and I love you, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay. This is what I want you to do. I want you to hang up this phone, then I want you to call your friend, Mister Crappy, and tell him to come and get you. And then you tell your boss you need to take a personal day and you hightail it out of there, yes?’

‘Yes, okay. I can do that.’

‘Okay, and then you call me back and you tell me everything, okay, honey?’

‘Thank you mama. I love you.’

‘Love you too, baby, you hang up now and call me back.’

‘Okay, bye, mama.’

‘Bye, baby.’

 

He hangs up and calls Shitty. He picks up on the first ring.

‘I saw it, Bits, I’m getting in the car. Where are you?’ He lets out another sigh of relief at the sound of Shitty’s voice.

‘I’m at work. I just. I can’t go back out there. They’re all looking at me.’

‘It’s okay, Bitty, I’m on my way. I’ll take you home okay? It’s going to be fine.’

‘Okay, Shitty.’

‘I’m ten minutes away. Just hold tight, Bits. I’m almost there.’

 

Bitty waits in the toilet. He doesn’t call his mama and he doesn’t call Jack. He just waits for Shitty. But it’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay. He just needs to breathe.

 

Breathe.

 

Just breathe.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, life has really kicked my butt. But I'm on the up and up! So keep the love coming, I live to hear from you all ❤❤❤
> 
> Russian translation:  
> Принцесса (printsessa): Princess
> 
> Trigger warning:  
> *spoiler  
> Jack drops Bitty off at work and Bitty gets to his desk, finds an online article about he and Jack, is a little confronting. He panics, and the attack is from Bitty's perspective.


	10. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has accepted that this kind of press harassment is just part of his life, but can he convince Bitty to do the same?

*******

 

Jack walks back into an apartment that still smells like Eric. Like christmas. Cinnamon and vanilla, just like the christmas markets back home, like long held happy memories. Like newer, even happier memories. The happiest Jack has ever had. He knows it. Just like he knew hockey was his life, just like he knows his anxiety is a part of him that he has to embrace to survive, he knows Eric is his future, his present. His home.

 

He finally turns his phone back on, now that he doesn’t have his boyfriend here to be distracted from, and is greeted by a barrage of missed calls and notifications. The first call he returns is Georgia Martin’s, the team’s assistant manager. Because his first thought is that something has happened to one of his teammates. Last night was a little wilder than they normally get, but the rookies were on such a high that he wanted to let them blow off some steam before practice today. Loosen up a little. And Bits had been so sweet, speaking to Tater in stilted Russian and endearing himself to Madison with endless questions about her Iranian heritage and long discussions of their food culture.

    ‘What’s happened?’ Jack says as soon as she picks up.

    ‘You haven’t seen?’ she asks, and Jack’s tone sharpens, because he doesn’t like to waste time.

    ‘George, just tell me what’s going on, who’s hurt, what happened?’

    ‘Nobody’s hurt, Jack, it’s Deadspin-’

    ‘George, I swear we were all home by eleven, none of the boys had more than two beers, you know my policy.’

    ‘Jack, shut up and listen to me for a second,’ Georgia says, frustrated. ‘The article is about Eric Bittle, _you_ and Eric Bittle.’ The temperature in the room drops, Jack can feel it in his blood.

    ‘Where did you say?’ he asks. ‘Deadspin?’

    ‘And TMZ has picked it up now, too.’ Georgia doesn’t sound happy. ‘I sent you the link’

    ‘Is it bad?’

    ‘It’s not good,’ she says. ‘Is he with you?’

    ‘No. I just dropped him at work.’ Jack has put his phone on speaker and is following the link from George to the Deadspin mobile site. His first thought is, thank god, it’s a photo from the club. It’s not a shot through his windows. Nobody is naked. Nobody is in a truly compromising position. His second thought is, who the fuck thinks they can call Eric a ‘toyboy?’ Who the fuck is researching this? His name isn’t even in the fucking article! His third thought is that Deadspin are a bunch of hacks because he and Eric haven’t even been hiding. Bits has been in the family box for almost every home game they’ve had in the last three weeks. He’s no dirty secret, they haven’t _exposed_ anybody.

    ‘Jack,’

    ‘Hmm?’ Like George has been trying to get his attention.

    ‘It’s the TMZ article you need to worry about.’

So he checks it. And there it is. The nudity. The compromising position. It’s a tumblr post, originally a Facebook post, but obviously taken down, of two guys fucking in a bathroom, one bent uncomfortably over the sink, the other with one hand around his partner’s throat and one hand against the medicine cabinet. Eric’s been tagged in it, clearly not either of the men in the photo, though the article is suggesting he might be. The strategically placed star doesn’t do much to cover up what’s going on.

    ‘ _Osti de tabarnak de câlice_ ,’

    ‘Yeah.’

    ‘That’s not Eric.’

    ‘Good.’

    ‘I have to go, I have to call him.’

    ‘Okay, call me back. We have damage control.’

    ‘We’re not hiding anything. Just show them the fucking footage from the games!’

    ‘We will, Jack,’ she says softly, ‘I’ll take care of it.’

    ‘Thanks, George, sorry for yelling.’

    ‘Don’t be sorry, get your boy on the phone. This is not good for him, Jack.’

 

Jack dials Eric’s number but he doesn’t pick up. Twice. So he looks up the number he has for Shitty ‘in case of emergency’ Knight, and feels like this qualifies. He dials.

    ‘Yeah, go!’ is the response he gets when it picks up.

    ‘Hello?’

    ‘Hello?’

    ‘Shitty?’

    ‘Who is this?’

    ‘Shitty, this is Jack!’

    ‘Jack?’ he asks, ‘Jack Zimmermann?’

    ‘Yes, fuck, yes. I have this as my emergency number for Eric, and this is an emergency.’

    ‘You have some nerve, dude.’

And Jack takes a sharp breath, because, no, no, no. This is not his fault. Is it?

    ‘No, Shitty, no. I’m going to fix this. This is all going to blow over, it’ll be fine.’ Shitty scoffs derisively at that.

    ‘I have one small blond having a panic attack in a public toilet that would say otherwise, friend.’

 _Crisse_ , Eric. Panic attacks are supposed to be Jack’s thing, but then he remembers the Lexapro that Bits took last night before they crashed and realises his brilliant coping mechanisms, that have helped Jack so wonderfully, must have come from some personal experience.

    ‘I can be there in ten minutes.’

    ‘Don’t bother, Jack, I’m almost there.’

    ‘Where are you going? I can meet you.’

    ‘Why are you ringing me and not Bitty?’

 _Tabarnak_ , he doesn’t need an argument right now, he needs to get to Eric. But he also needs not to blow up at Shitty, because that will get him nowhere.

    ‘I tried Eric, but it wouldn’t go through.’

    ‘You mean he wouldn’t pick up.’

    ‘I do mean that, yes.’

Jack waits with his heart in his mouth for Shitty to respond.

    ‘Let me talk to him, Jack. If I know Bits, and I know that little mother fucker like the back of my ‘stache, he’s terrified that you’re angry with him right now-’

    ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Jack blurts, ‘this _is_ my fault, I told him we would stick through all this together!’  He’s working himself into a bit of a frenzy now and has to take a deep breath.

    ‘Save it for Bitty, man. I’m not the one that needs convincing.’

    ‘Right, right.’ Jack says, subdued. ‘Right. Just, talk to him for me, please Shitty.’

    ‘I’ll message you either way, okay, dude? At least to let you know if he’s okay.’

    ‘Yes! Thank you.’ It’s better than nothing. ‘Thank you, Shitty. You’re a good friend. Look after him for me.’

    ‘I always do, Jackabelle. I always do.’ Shitty hangs up before Jack can get another word in. And now he just has to wait by his phone until Shitty or Eric calls back.

 

The phone vibrates in his hand and it near flies across the room in his enthusiasm to answer. He deflates a little when the caller ID reads ‘Papa’.

    ‘Papa,’ he says, ‘I can’t talk right now, I’m waiting for Eric to call.’

    ‘He’s not with you?’

    ‘No. I dropped him at work.’

    ‘Why would you?’

    ‘We didn’t know, papa, we had our phones off.’

    ‘ _Osti de câlice,’_ Jack silently agrees with the sentiment, _‘_ Jack...’

    ‘Papa, we were… busy…’ His father huffs a laugh into the phone and softly parrots ‘ _busy_ ’ into the phone. ‘I have to go, I’m sorry.’

    ‘Should we come to you?’

    ‘No, I won’t be here long, I need to get to Eric.’

    ‘Okay, well what should we do?’

    ‘Ring Georgia, find out what she wants you to do. When I talk to Eric, I’ll let you know what he wants.’

    ‘Okay. If you two, I mean if this thing, if you're serious, he needs to learn to forget what these fucking assholes will say about you both.’

    ‘I know, papa.’

    ‘Because they are out for our blood, _mon loup_ , and we should never give it to them.’

    ‘Papa!’ Jack says with frost on his tongue, ‘It’s not so easy, we both know, to brush it off like this.’

    ‘I’m sorry, Jack I-’

    ‘It’s _my_ job to protect him.’

    ‘Non, Jack, non, he is a man too-’

    ‘Papa, it’s only because of me they’ve done this at all. If they want blood, they can have _mine_.’ Jack’s breathing is fast and shallow, but it’s anger, not panic. And his father is silent on the other side of the conversation. Waiting, maybe, for the right words to find him. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to go. Call George, okay?’

    ‘Okay, Jack, we love you.’ His father takes a breath, ‘never forget that. We are always here.’ It’s a reflection of what Shitty had said earlier, and Jack is glad that they both have family such as this in their lives, to keep them afloat.

    ‘Love you too.  Bye, papa,’ he hangs up before his father can reciprocate.

 

He sits, ignoring every call that's not Shitty or Eric. There’re a lot of emails coming through and he doesn’t think he has the energy to sift through them right now. Tater calls, but he doesn’t think he has the energy for that right now either, so he lets it go to voicemail. He doesn’t expect him to show up at his door ten minutes later, interrupting Jack’s aimless but fevered pacing around the living room.

    ‘Let me in, Jack, I’m need to see Little B! Make sure he’s okay!’ Jack’s watching him through the peephole and just rests his head on the door. What is he even paying his doormen for if they just let everybody up now? ‘I’m hearing you there, Jack. You breathe like old Russian man. Let me in.’

    ‘Jesus, Tater!’ he says, opening the door and being barreled into his own foyer. ‘I’m waiting for Eric to call me! Okay!’

    ‘He’s not here?’

    ‘No-’

    ‘What you do, Jack?’ he says, looming into Jack’s space menacingly. Jack gets an idea of why the other teams don’t like Alexei much, if this is what it feels like on the receiving end of that glare…

    ‘Nothing,’ Jack says, throwing his hands up in surrender and then crossing them just as quickly, determined not to be chagrined in the face of Tater’s indignation, because he hasn’t _done_ anything. ‘We didn’t know, alright? I didn’t turn my phone on until about fifteen minutes ago.’

‘What you doing, not having your phone on, Zimmboni!’ He looks mad and then immediately his eyes widen a fraction and he blushes. ‘Wait, nevermind, I’m already guessing.’

    ‘We had a nice breakfast!’ Jack says, blushing right back, ‘and… yeah okay... other things,’ Jack flashes back to having Eric flushed and hard above him, all powerful strength and beauty, pushing down into Jack’s throat, smiling at him, loving him. Maybe loving him… he doesn’t know. He hasn’t said it yet... ‘but just… forget that now, okay? He might not even want to talk to me right now.’

Tater is quiet for a minute and Jack lets him be, waiting for him to figure out what they can even do to help.

    ‘Mads show me TMZ pictures,’ he says quietly.

    ‘Those aren’t even Eric.’ Tater just nods like he probably already suspected as much.

    ‘She wants to kill them. I’m having to talk her down this morning. If she not have surgery today, I’m thinking she would march right into someone's office with death in her fists.’ Jack almost cracks a smile at the thought of Madison bringing furious vengeance on unsuspecting hack journalists. ‘I sent him private message on twitter.’

    ‘You what?’

    ‘Little B, I’m send him private message. He not replied, but I’m wait.’

    ‘Tater, he might not-’

    ‘When he get back to me, I’m tell him, he family. I’m tell anyone who ask.’ Jack is getting a little choked up. He can tell Alexei is too, because his english is sounding more than usually broken. Sometimes Jack forgets how lucky he is to have his team, his family.

    ‘Thank you, Tater.’ He steps in to give him a hug and the big man nearly crushes him in return. ‘Thank Mads for me too, okay?’ He steps back for some breathing room. ‘Talk to George though, okay? She’s got a plan. I think.’

    ‘Good idea, Zimmboni, George always have plan.’

 

Tater is almost out the door when Jack’s phone vibrates in his hand and Eric’s name looks up at him from the screen. He fumbles to get to the answer key, his hands are shaking so.

    ‘Eric!’

He hears nothing but short fast breaths down the line.

    ‘Babe, talk to me…’ his breath is coming short and fast in reply. He needs Eric to answer him. He needs this not to have changed anything. Because this is a part of Jack's life that _wont_ be changing anytime soon. And Bitty will be a part of that. He wants - he _needs_ \- Bitty to be a part of it.

    ‘Jack…’ Eric says. He sounds so small.

    ‘Bud, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please tell me where you are.’ Tater is watching him from the door and he looks up at him imploringly. He needs to find the right words here, to bring Bitty back to him.

    ‘Honey, I…’ his voice peters off, but Jack is buoyed. Probably the ‘honey’, the endearment, giving him hope.

    ‘Bits, everything is going to be okay. I promise. But you have to let me be there for you. Can you do that?’ Jack asks, pleads, ‘can you let me in, bud?’ He waits.

    ‘I’m... we’re… Shitty’s taking me to his apartment. Can you meet us there?’ Eric asks, voice barely bigger than the sound of his breath, ‘would that be alright?’

    ‘Yes! absolutely yes! I’ll be there in a minute.’

    ‘Shouldn’t you be at practice? Jesus, Jack, you have a game tomorrow.’ And of course now he finds his voice, just in time to tell Jack off.

    ‘It’s fine, Bits, the team is working it all out for us, George is going to take care of everything. They all want me to look after you right now.’ He hears Bitty sniff and catch his breath. ‘Tater’s on his way out, to captain the team while I’m gone.’ Tater just nods his head and gives a quick salute before doing just that.

    ‘That boy,’ Bitty says, fondly, ‘he’s a keeper.’ Jack snorts his reply.

    ‘I’m hanging up,’ Jack says, ‘but I’ll see you in a minute, just wait for me, Bits.’

    ‘I will, sweetpea.’

 

Jack grabs his keys and his shoes in his hands. He’ll slide them on while he’s driving. He makes it to Shitty’s apartment from sense memory, hardly paying attention to the road at all. And when the door opens inwards to his beautiful, blond diamond, shine dulled slightly by red-rimmed eyes and a pained expression, Jack drinks him in. He steps in to take Bitty in his arms, and Bits throws himself into them.

    ‘You are the worst, Mister Zimmermann. What have you gotten me into?’

    ‘I’m so sorry, bud. I hoped it wouldn’t be this bad.’

    ‘Yes well,’ Bitty says as he pries himself away and closes the door, ‘it was a bit of a shock, I must say.’ He wipes delicately at the tears in his eyes and flops down onto the couch in Shitty’s tiny living room.

    ‘Yeah, I guess we sort of dropped the ball on this one.’

    ‘Lord, sports metaphors,’ Eric says under his breath.

    ‘Bits, I… let's be serious for a minute.’

    ‘I’m taking this very seriously, Jack. I promise you,’ and there is bite in his tone.

    ‘This is awful. It’s horrible what they said about you, and it’s wrong it’s so wrong,’ he flicks his eyes to Eric to make sure he’s still with him. He’s wary, but he’s listening. ‘And Georgia, our assistant manager, is getting counter PR put up right now.’ Eric nods his understanding. ‘And I know that this is a shock, it's… more than any normal person should ever be asked to deal with,’ he’s trying to draw Eric to him with sheer force of will, ‘but I am… I am asking you to deal with it.’

    ‘I’m trying, Jack, I-’

    ‘No I mean, I’m asking you... I’m saying, this is a part of my life. Always has been. Always will be. I think you knew that about me already, but the reality of that kind of harassment is a lot harder to deal with than just the idea-’

    ‘Yeah,’ Eric rolls his eyes with a huff.

    ‘-and I’m asking you to deal with it, with me. Together. Long term. Do you think… do you think you could live with it?’

    ‘Jack, we’ve got nine weeks still before you’re supposed to be asking me that.’ It’s Jack’s turn to huff. Because anyone with eyes can see that he and Bitty are forever.

    ‘Okay then, can you see it through with me, for nine more weeks? Trust my team to get us through it? Trust me to turn it around for us?’

 

Bitty looks at him with eyes half-lidded and lips pursed. It's as distracting as it is frightening. Jack feels like his whole future is riding on this answer, and yet he’s still totally drawn to the plump redness of Bitty’s bottom lip and the slight upturn of his delicate nose. The smattering of freckles across his cheeks, the depth and warmth in the dark amber of his eyes and the strength of his countenance.

    ‘Jack?’

    ‘I’m listening,’ he says, looking back up at Bitty’s eyes from his perfect mouth.

    ‘I could.’

    ‘You could?’ He could? He could!

    ‘For you. I could learn.’ Jack doesn’t really hear any more than that because his brain has shut down in relief. And then switches itself right back on again with all the things they need to get done. But first he reaches over and catches Bitty’s perfect mouth in a kiss. Rests his forehead against Bitty’s and just holds him for a minute. Just to let it sink in. That everything is going to be alright.

    ‘Okay. I need to call George.’

    ‘I need to call Hunter.’

    ‘Who?’ Jack asks, confused.

    ‘My ex,’ Bitty says, cringing, ‘the one in the TMZ photo.’

    ‘But that’s not you…’

    ‘No,’ Bitty says, shaking his head, ‘it’s him though. And the Samwell Lacrosse goalie.’

    ‘Oh…’ Jack doesn’t know why Eric would have been tagged in the photo, but it probably isn’t good.

    ‘Yeah, oh,’ he says with a twisted, painful smile. ‘The real kicker is that we were still dating at the time…’ Jack has the sudden impulse to murder someone at the look of abject misery on Bitty’s face at that memory. He also doesn’t feel nearly as bad about the photo being in the article. ‘Don’t be making that face, sugar,’ Bitty says, and Jack works not to preen under the pet name, ‘whatever wrong he did me, he doesn’t deserve this now.’

    ‘Right, no, you’re right.’ Jack tries to sound sincere. Eric looks pretty unconvinced though.    

    ‘And mama. I need to call mama back,’ he says, hugging into himself. Jack puts his arms around him, feeding as much comfort into the embrace as he can manage.

    ‘I really am sorry, Bits. I wish this wasn’t my life. I just. I can’t change it, I only drove myself crazy thinking that I could.’

    ‘It’s okay, sweetpea,’ he says, looking up into Jack’s eyes with his own wide and honest.  ‘If this is the price I have to pay, to have you, my real life hockey prince, god like creature that you are, great big marshmallow of a man, then I will pay it,’ Bitty reaches up to cup Jack’s face in his palms, ‘and I will keep paying it. I promise.’

It’s as close as Bitty has come to telling Jack that he loves him. That he’ll stay. And Jack closes his eyes to savour it. And smiles. And kisses his boyfriend again and again until Shitty breaks them up with a stern cough and cups of tea.

Right.

Time to call George. Time to get to work.

  
  
  
  


   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon loup means my wolf - or can be a term of endearment like 'darling' but I like the idea that Bob thinks of Jack like a wolf, because of his and Alicia's eyes being so wolf like and that being one of his favourite things about them both :)
> 
> So you all should know, that your comments and your continued support is the most amazing source of joy for me at the moment. I feel really proud of this fandom, the quality of the fics that are coming out right now, the kindness of the fans who read them and love them. Thank you for letting me feel a part of that. 
> 
> Let me know how you feel about this little Jack interlude...
> 
> Lots of love to everyone xx


	11. Invasion of the Bittles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bittles arrive, and shake things up a bit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gorgeous people.
> 
> Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay. I have had a few crazy weeks (thats my life, right?) including:  
> \- having the stomach flu  
> \- a heat wave (it legit hit 44C here the other day - that's 112f, it hurt just to breath the air)  
> \- picking up an extra day at work (so an extra day at daycare for the boys - guilt trip)  
> \- starting new medication (it's working!)  
> \- binge watching all of Good Place (I am only human)
> 
> So anyway - I have the rest of the story all mapped out and the end is nigh!
> 
> Thanks for everything! You are all so lovely and wonderful and precious to me! I wish I could hug you all ≧◡≦

 

 

All it takes is Jack’s ridiculously handsome face. And the concern he finds there. And the empathy. And the love. And Bitty’s panic starts to recede. It’s not _gone_ but he can gently nudge it back further into his mind, so that it’s not sitting _right there_ , front and centre, freaking him out and keeping him locked up.

 

He and Jack have a bit of a moment, discussing the very scary nature of Jack’s relationship with the public, and the paparazzi, and all the crap that goes along with it (god, his life, if this is what it’s been like for him from childhood? Must have been a nightmare) and whether Bitty can imagine living with this invasion on a regular basis - because that’s what a life with Jack will mean. And Bitty has to make a decision to get onboard with it, or end things (he knows that’s not necessarily what Jack is saying, he’s paraphrasing, but it is, in a very real way, essentially exactly the decision he is forced to make) and Bitty can do it, can do it for Jack, and for the possibility of the life together he can genuinely see them having.

 

He’s tempted to climb right into Jack’s lap and be wrapped up with him, just immersed in him, to hide away, but Shitty is there with peppermint tea and a stern expression, to remind Bitty of his obligations.

‘Bitty, my man, you need to call that gorgeous mother of yours, or she’s going to flip-the-fuck-out.’

And Shitty is right. Bitty needs to call his mama back. But when the call picks up, it’s not his mama on the other end

‘Son?’

‘Coach?’

‘Eric, thank god. Are you okay?’ Something inside him melts a little, to hear his daddy so worried about him.

‘Dad, I’m okay,’ he says with a sigh, ‘I’m here at Shitty’s.’

‘You’re at Knight’s?’

‘He picked me up from work.’

‘Good. I know that boy’s got some strange ideas, but he’ll take good care of you.’

‘He will, Coach,’ he smiles into the phone. ‘Jack’s here too,’ he says, looking up at his boyfriend. He frowns though, when his dad doesn't say anything in reply. ‘Coach?’

‘He’s there? Zimmermann?’

‘Yes.’ Bitty says, a little harder than he means to.

‘We saw the article, Junior. Your Mama’s phone sends her any updates that come through with your name in them.’ Bitty is too stunned to reply. He, firstly, had no idea that his parents were that invested in what he was doing, and he, secondly, has no idea how to deal with the fact that his parents have actually read that article. Either of them.

‘I don’t… I didn’t…’

‘It’s alright, Eric, it’s okay, don’t you worry,’ his father says, soothing.

‘Dad,’ he replies with a huff, because honestly, how can he not be worried.

‘We don’t give a rat’s fat ass about what some good-for-nothing magazine has to say about you or your boy.’

‘Coach, he’s not _mine,’_ he says, dropping his head into his hand and feeling Jack stiffen beside him. ‘I mean he’s not... I’m as much _his_ as he is _mine-_

 _‘-_ BITS!’ Shitty yells from the kitchen, where he’s stretching to find the good cookies he hides from Lardo and her bottomless appetite, ‘people are not commodities!’

‘Look, that’s not important right now,’ he says around the interruption, checking back at Jack’s expression to see him smiling fondly, ‘I just. I’m so sorry, dad.’

‘Junior, you don’t need to apologise for this, you hear? You haven’t done anything wrong, we just, we want to make sure that you’re alright.’

‘Is mama okay, though?’ he asks, suddenly worried.  ‘Why isn’t she answering her phone?’

‘She’s on the other line, kiddo, booking us tickets to Boston.’ Bitty’s heart skips.

‘Y’all are comin’ here?’

‘We are.’

‘When?’

‘Today, son.’

‘Oh, Coach, no. You didn’t have to do that!’

‘Eric, you know full well, your mama is not gonna survive out here with you up there, going through all this.’ And Bitty knows that’s true. It would be cruel to make her.

‘Okay, well. Just let me know when I need to pick y’all up,’ he says, swallowing down the anxiety that having to leave the apartment right now brings up.

‘We’ll take a cab, kiddo. You just hang tight. Bake me some of those biscuits you do so good,’ he says, lowering his voice, ‘don’t tell your mother, but yours are my favourite.’ He snorts a laugh at his father’s daring and the anxiety fades back that little bit again. His parents have always been just as good at helping as they are at causing his anxiety in the first place.

 

He hangs up and lets Shitty and Jack know what his parents are planning. Though he has no idea where they’re planning to stay or how long they’re going to be here. He gets onto making the biscuits, because they could all use some comfort food.

‘Shitty?’

‘Yeah, brah?’

‘Do you think you could pop out and pick up a few things from the store?’

‘Bits, that is the very least of what I can do for you right now,’ he says, wrapping a strong, muscular arm around Bitty’s much smaller (but still strong) shoulders. Bitty twists to stay in his grasp but face him with a smile.

‘Can you get me a chicken,’ he’ll need chicken for the gravy (roast chicken pan juices always make the best gravy), ‘bread, milk, butter and some fruit and maybe potatoes and broccoli, whatever else all looks fresh.’ Really, Shitty’s kitchen is a travesty of frozen food and too-old take out. ‘Oh, and pecans!’

‘Will do, Itty Bitty, and maybe some of that good chocolate you like?’

‘Oh, yes, lovely,’ Bitty says, bumping his forehead into Shitty’s shoulder.  Jack’s watching them with a strange, pinched look on his face. Shitty smack a wet, hairy kiss onto Bitty’s cheeks as he lets him go and heads to the door, grabbing the hemp tote bags on the way.

There’s enough in the fridge to get started on the biscuits, and once he’s dicing the butter and rubbing it into the flour he feels calm for the first time since he left Jack’s car this morning. He pours just enough milk from the rest of the carton and adds lemon juice (Lardo won't be happy that he’s using her misshapen, still life lemons, but desperate times...) to curdle it.

‘Can I help you with something, Bits?’ Jack asks quietly, coming up behind him. His expression is still a little stiff, a little drawn, like he’s not sure the reception he’s going to get will be favourable.

‘Will you get me a nice big glass from the top cupboard, honey?’

‘Sure,’ he says, quirking an eyebrow, ‘are you thirsty, you want water or juice or something?’

‘No, sugar,’ Bitty says with a fond chuckle, ‘it’s to cut the biscuits, here I’ll show you.’

 

Bitty finishes putting the dough together, careful not to work it too much as he gently pats it flat, keeping it thick. He helps Jack to press the lip of the glass into the dough to cut the biscuits and lay them on a tray with baking paper and brushes the last of the milk on them. They slide them into Shitty and Lardo’s crappy oven. Bitty thinks longingly of Betsy and her size, but temperamental heating tendencies.

‘Lord, this oven is tiny, but at least it’s hot.’

‘Just like you, eh?’ Jack says and Bitty elbows him in the ribs, rolling his eyes trying to hide how delighted he is by that inane flattery.

 

‘So you and Shitty are close, huh?’ Jack asks after a minute of pottering around the kitchen, helping Bitty with the dishes.

‘Well we lived together for two years.’

‘But him and Lardo are like, a thing?’

‘That’s probably a pretty accurate description, yes.’

‘And you and he never… were...’ Jack waves his hands around nonsensically.

‘Were?’ Bitty’s not sure what he’s even asking.

‘A thing?’

‘Oh no,’ Bitty says with a laugh, ‘Shitty is like the big brother I never asked for.’ And Jack looks so relieved, Bitty’s almost sad he didn’t draw that out a little further.

‘That’s the impression I had, but he’s very… tactile,’ Jack says, looking sheepish.

‘You should be glad you’re catching him on his best behaviour. It’s usually a chore just to get that boy to wear anything more than his moustache around this place, or anyplace really.’ Jack looks more confused than comforted by that but Bitty just laughs. If Jack is going to be around for a while, he'll see it for himself soon enough. The thought warms Bitty and he reaches up to kiss Jack on the underside of his perfect jaw (scratchy with playoff beard) and Jack’s returning smile and the way his hands slip down to rest at Bitty's hips, dissolves a little more of that sharp painful tightness in his chest.

 

***

 

Bitty nearly cries when Shitty brings home one bag of every different chocolate from EH Chocolatier.

‘These are fucking courtesy of Bernard Knight Senior, Itty Bits.’

‘You used your emergency AMEX?’

‘You bet your tight butt I did,’ he says with a wink, ‘this is an emergency after all, right Jacky?’ Jack blushes but doesn’t answer.

‘Shitty, I do love you, you know,’ Bitty says, and though Jack winces, Bitty isn’t sorry. He knows Jack is waiting for him to say those words, never sure (though Bitty doesn’t know how he can’t be, really) if or when Bitty might voice them. And Bitty isn’t punishing him or anything, it’s not a game or a test or some power play. It’s just, he isn’t ready to let them free yet. Because once he says it, there’s no going back. And Bitty wants to use the time they have to make sure, to be so sure (as much as anyone ever can be) that it won’t ruin him to give himself completely over. He promises himself, when their time is up, if they decide to see this through, he will make it up to Jack every day for as long as it takes.

The face Jack makes while Bitty eats his present from Shitty (or Shitty’s dad, as it were), Bitty making all kinds of lascivious sounds and not even caring (their caramelised peanut butter cups are like nothing that could be created on Earth, honestly), is precious. Shitty makes an excuse to back out of the room and disappear for a while. Bitty feeds Jack one of the candies and the noise _he_ makes in return has Bitty hard in seconds. When he grabs Jack’s hands and pins them to the couch on either side of his head, crawls into his lap and steals half the chocolate out of Jack’s mouth, it takes Bitty’s phone ringing out twice and Shitty shouting at him to answer it before they manage to draw back and disentangle themselves.

 

***

 

By the time his parents arrive at Shitty’s apartment it’s late and most of the biscuits, gravy and roast chicken are gone. Bitty has, however, made a new batch of biscuits for his dad and a pecan pie for his mama. He greets them down at the entrance to the building and his mama just grabs him and holds him for the longest time. Jack and Shitty are still waiting upstairs and Bitty tells them so when they ask.

‘And how are you, Dicky darlin’?’ his mama asks.

‘I don’t know, mama, I don’t really know how to explain.’

‘Oh, honey,’ she says and pulls him back in for another hug. The feel of her arms around him, even at five foot nothing, is such a safe space, Bitty just cries into her shoulder.

‘Come on, sweetpea, let’s get you and Junior upstairs,’ Coach says, patting them both on the shoulder with his familiar, calloused hands. Hands that taught Bitty to throw a perfect spiral and to change a tire, drive a stick, flip a pancake. Hands that sometimes seemed to disapprove of Bitty’s choices. Hands that he now understands, touch with love and acceptance.

‘Y’all have to walk up three flights, there’s no elevator in this place,’ Bitty warns his parents.

‘Who would have an elevator for three stories anyway, Dicky,’ his mama scoffs, ‘you’re gettin’ soft living up here with these northerners.’ Coach laughs along with his wife as Bitty rolls his eyes and runs up ahead of them, with his mama’s luggage, to get the door.

 

Shitty jumps up to give Suzanne a cuddle and shake Coach’s hand as they come through the door, grabbing their luggage and tucking it in the corner. Jack waits awkwardly to the side, shifting his weight and tapping a fist into his thigh repeatedly.

‘Coach, mama,’ Bitty says, stepping towards Jack, ‘this is Jack. Jack, this is Coach and mama.’ He places a supportive hand at the small of Jack’s back as he pushes forward to meet Bitty’s parents.

‘Rick and Suzanne is fine, son,’ Coach says impassively. Bitty’s mama seems a little warmer and steps forward to clasp Jack’s big hand between her two small but strong ones.

‘Jack, honey, we’ve heard so much about you.’

‘I’ve heard a lot about you, too,’ Jack says with a fond smile for Bitty and Suzanne’s face lights up a little. Bitty stares her down with the force of many years of practice but it doesn’t do a lick of good as she grabs Jack by the elbow and steers him to the couch as if she owns the place (she’s literally never set foot in this apartment before now).

‘Do I smell biscuits and gravy, Junior?’ Coach asks, eyebrows expectant and nostrils flared.

‘Go sit down, Coach, I’ll bring some food out. Did y’all eat on the plane? I made a pecan pie to have with tea as well.’

‘Oh they fed us somethin’ but it wasn’t food,’ Suzanne says, turning away from Jack to address her son.

‘It wasn’t that bad, Suzy.’

‘It was, don’t argue with me,’ his mama slaps her husband with a quick backhand to his chest, which Jack seems to think is amusing, ‘and don’t give your daddy too many of those biscuits, Dicky, he ate both our dinners.’ Coach blusters at the thought of not getting his fair share of the biscuits and Suzanne waves away any offer from Bitty to whip her up something more substantial for dinner.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Bitty asks his folks.

‘We booked into the Ramada in Seekonk for three days and then we fly back on Friday so Rick doesn’t miss his game,’ Suzanne drawls.

‘Oh, that’s less than fifteen minutes from my apartment,’ Jack says.

‘But still an hour from here,’ Shitty adds helpfully. They resolve not to spend too much time at Shitty’s, instead spending an hour eating and hugging Bitty (mostly just his mama, but he does get one from his dad and two from Shitty. Jack seems too afraid to touch him in front of his parents...)

Lardo staggers in the door at half past nine, just as they are leaving, and pulls Bitty into a crushing embrace. She was stuck in a double shift and smells like spilled coke and greasy burgers (which is ridiculously appealing to Bitty) and Suzanne gives her a long, tight hug and tells her how much she appreciates Lardo and Shitty being there for Bitty as much as they are.

‘It makes me worry so much less, just knowin’ you two good little eggs are here to love my Eric for me.’ Laro almost looks ashamed when she gets let go, like she’s left her post unmanned and shit has hit the fan in her absence. Bitty gives her another squeeze on his way out and tells her she is his goddess, and never to forget it.

Jack and BItty sit up front (with some resistance from Bitty) and his parents sit in the back of Jack’s truck as Jack starts the car and gets them on the way to their hotel. They have an hour in the car to kill. Bitty’s anxiety kicks back into gear when he hears Coach clear his throat.

‘So Jack,’

‘Yes, Coach, ah, Rick, sir…’ Jack swallows and glances at Bitty’s dad in the rearview mirror.

‘What’s your plan to fix this? Cause I have to say,’ Bitty turns in his seat to stare daggers at his daddy, but it doesn’t deter him, ‘all this nonsense is no good for his troubles.’

‘His troubles?’

‘You know, his stress disorder.’ Coach says it so matter of fact. It’s like he’s been practising.

‘What stress disorder?’ Jack asks, alarmed.

‘Dicky!’ his mama admonishes, ‘you haven’t told him about your PTSD?’

‘Bits?’

Eric just sits in the passenger seat with his head in his hands. ‘It hasn’t come up yet, mama.’

‘This is something these boys need to sit down and talk about later,’ Coach says with authority, but Bitty can feel his mama wanting to butt right in and tell Jack everything. ‘Suzy, let them talk about it together,’ he says softly, and it’s enough to get her to hold her tongue.

 

They get Bitty’s parents to their hotel and get them squared away before heading back to Jack’s.

‘Oh my god, Bits, your accent,’ is the first thing Jack says when they get in the apartment door.

‘What, you never noticed it before Mister Zimmermann?’

‘Just, with your parents around, it’s all thick and syrupy,’ he crowds Bitty up against the wall.

‘Oh, you like that, sugar? Y’all like my little twang?’

‘ _Fuck_ , Eric, it’s driving me crazy.’

Bitty sneaks out from under Jack’s arm, grabs his bag and Jack’s hand and drags him into the bedroom. He breaks out the bag of tart cherry bites (he’s saving the salted caramel popcorn bark for himself), pushes Jack onto the bed, pulling at his clothes and then his own clothes, tossing them aside. He climbs up onto the bed and crawls over Jack, opening the bag of chocolates and placing them right by his hand. He then places one of the chocolates on his tongue, bites down, and moans as the tart cherry bursts in his mouth and mixes with the rich dark chocolate to melt on his tongue. He then begins to feed them to his glorious boyfriend, who runs his hands up and down Bitty’s thighs and Bitty, straddling Jack, strokes himself slowly and deliberately (feeding himself and Jack in turn) to finally come all over Jack’s beautiful chest and then carefully lick it clean. It takes about thirty seconds of Bitty sucking on the head of Jack’s cock before Jack is coming himself, right into Bitty’s hand (he can’t wait till they get the test results back and Jack will let him just swallow it).

    He keeps his fingers (figuratively) crossed the whole time that he’s distracted Jack enough not to ask him about the PTSD. And it works. For now at least, it works.

 

Eric drives in to practice with Jack the next day so that he can chat officially with George and they can go over the plan of attack.

‘Eric, it’s so nice to finally meet you,’ George says, warm and genuine, ‘let’s not skirt around anything here,’ she continues, straight down to business.  ‘I know you have a pretty impressive twitter account, and Jack is fairly popular on instagram,’ (understatement), ‘so we want you boys to be a bit more open about your lives together, that way people will see this is a real relationship and not something you're trying to hide.’ Bitty nods along, though he’s terrified of opening himself up to that many people’s scrutiny.  ‘Tater and Madison have already offered to do a guest spot on your cooking blog if you’ll have them Bitty.  He mentioned something about his babushka’s lemon cake? Or something?’  Bitty just keeps nodding, though his insides are bursting. Those Mashkovs are getting a lifetime supply of lemon bars, the absolute sweethearts.  George keeps on without taking a breath, ‘We put together a promo piece for our website which we’re hoping will get picked up by other sites as well, with highlights of the finals series so far and shots of the family reactions, including your interactions with Bad Bob and Alicia - there’s a beautiful shot of them both embracing you after Jack sinks a clincher - and with Madison and Gabby and Carrie,’ Bitty is tearing up a little just hearing about it. ‘How we doing so far?’ George asks and Bitty takes a deep breath.

‘I’m good, it sounds good so far. What else do you need me to do?’

‘Well, we’re demanding a retraction from deadspin about the photo that they insinuate is of you, and have it taken down. Honestly, I think the more photos of you we can get out there the better, because it’s pretty obvious, once people can see you outside of a crappy grainy pap shot, that that is one hundred percent not you in the photo.’

‘And also, um… well, I have a scar.’

‘You have a scar?’

‘Yes. On my left shoulder, from torn rotator cuff surgery.’

‘And it’s obvious?’

‘Yeah, well, enough that someone could probably prove it’s not me in those photos.’ He quickly pulls the collar of his sweater to the side so that Georgia can see the extent of the scar that runs along the top of his left shoulder. It’s a good five years old now, but it’s there, you can see it, and it’s not in the photos.

‘That’s great, that’s great Eric. Okay, I think that’s enough for now, I’ll let you get back to Jack so I can get all this set in motion.’

‘Thank you, Miss Martin, thank you for this,’ he says, actually quite overwhelmed with the support that he and Jack are getting from his team and their families.

‘It’s absolutely my pleasure, Eric. And you just call me George, alright?’

‘Alright then,’ he agrees with a smile.

 

He makes it down to the ice in time to see the end of the Falconers’ practice before getting swept up in an enthusiastic conversation with Tater about what they might do on Bitty’s ‘cooking show’.

‘You know it’s not a real show, Tater, it’s just my crappy little vlog.’

‘Is not _crappy!_ ’ Tater says with feeling, ‘Mads and I watch and is beautiful cooking, perfect explanation, cutest baker.’ He laughs as Bitty blushes. ‘We wait so impatient to be on your show!’

‘Well it will be a real treat for me,’ Bitty says, sure his blush is taking over his whole body, ‘to have two gorgeous celebrities on my little vlog.’ Jack watches the exchange warily and finally pulls Bitty aside to ask him what they’re talking about. ‘Oh it’s nothing, honey. Just a little video blog I do about my cooking. It’s really not interesting _at all_.’ Jack does not look placated by this news.

‘You have a show that you didn’t tell me about?’

‘No, it’s really not a show, it’s just a silly little blog, like a diary almost.’

‘But it’s about you?’

‘Well yes.’

‘And _by_ you?’

‘Yes, honey.’ Bitty crosses his arms.

‘Why would you keep that from me Bits, of course I would want to watch something like that.’ Jack has been skating steadily closer as they speak and they are just about nose to nose across the rink barrier before Bitty can answer him.

‘Honey, sweetpea, listen, I must have mentioned it to Mahdokht when we were talkin’ the other day. I promise I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I’ll tell you about it, send you a link, whatever you want. Just, let’s focus on the more important stuff for now, okay? Like the fact that you have a game tonight?’ Jack agrees but he’s not happy about it.

‘You’ll send me a link though?’ Jack asks.

‘I promise, honey,’ Bitty says with a quick kiss to Jack’s cheek. ‘I’ll even let you watch me film one, one day, okay?’ Jack just replies with a gruff nod, but pulls Bitty in for a proper kiss. Bitty breaks away when he starts to feel himself getting a little too carried away. ‘Jack, I do not want to be in an indecent condition to go out and have lunch with our parents.’

Jack, the weasel, just smiles sweetly while Bitty tries to discreetly adjust his jeans. Bitty is about to go on the unfortunate adventure of introducing his parents to Jack's parents and taking them out for a late lunch while Jack gets his pre game nap in. He leans in for one more kiss and Bitty is helpless to stop him. Though just as their lips meet and press together gently, Jack pulls back.

‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your PTSD either, Eric Bittle,’ he whispers against Bitty’s mouth. He pulls back a little further so that he can stare right into Bitty’s eyes. ‘I can understand why you don’t like to talk about it. And I’d never force you. But babe,’ he says, clutching at Bitty’s hand and squeezing, ‘I want you to want to tell me about it.’ He lifts their joined hands to his heart. ‘I want you to tell me everything.’

Bitty waits a beat before gently pulling his hand away. He rests it against Jack’s cheek for another beat more and then pulls away completely. ‘I’ve gotta go, honey,’ he says and Jack just nods, the only expression in his face a slight tightening of his lips. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’ And he turns and walks away without looking back.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment. I've had some feedback on this chapter from my amazing, long suffering, superhuman beta [jujubeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans) and I'd love to know how many of you share her thoughts (no, I'm not going to tell you what they are - no cheating). 
> 
> Also, I just love to hear from you ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ


	12. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bittles meet the Zimmermanns and Bitty might finally get a chance to talk to Jack about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... late again! I have no excuse except that my kid turned three (and we had a party - I cooked lunch for fifteen people, and I've literally never cleaned my house so well {I used a steam mop people}) and I've been feeling super lazy (and still binge watching netflix, this time, 'One Day at a Time' and 'Altered Carbon'. So good).
> 
> Warnings on this one, panic attacks and a little violence, see end notes.

Bitty drives away from Jack and towards his parents’ hotel. There’s a heaviness in his chest that presses on him, but he can’t focus on that now. He has other things to do, people to take care of, good impressions to make - on his own behalf and his parents’ - so the next few hours require him to lock that heaviness away to revisit later (which he is _super_ excited about). Bitty doesn’t like talking about his stress at the best of times (well, at least, the most controlled of situations, like, with a trained professional) so talking about it to Jack, whom he so desperately wants to be with, and around, will be like trying to talk about sex with his moomaw. Embarrassing. Uncomfortable. Mortifying. It will make Jack look at him differently. It will make Jack think of him differently. It might make Jack love him differently. And that is terrifying.

 

Bitty does believe Jack deserves to know these things about him, had always intended he’d get around to talking about it eventually. His anxiety, depression and post traumatic stress are (to Bitty) a small but significant aspect of his personality. He hadn’t, however, allowed himself to really contemplate how Jack’s media presence would affect his PTSD. He had known it would hit his anxiety, maybe ramp it up a bit, but he never realised how much it would bring back memories of being helpless and desperate and _trapped_. So yes, he’ll talk to Jack. He just can’t think about it right now.

 

He picks his folks up from out front of their hotel (it’s bordering on bad manners but so much easier than trying to find a park or having to get valet) and his mama climbs into the front seat, kissing him on the cheek. Her perfume, always the same, sweet but fresh, is ridiculously comforting to his twenty-one year old self.

‘How’s my baby?’ she asks.

‘I’m fine, mama. Coach,’ he turns to his dad, as he climbs into the back seat.

‘Junior,’ his father replies, nodding back.

‘You happy for me to drive, Coach?’ he asks, having never actually driven with his daddy as a passenger, anytime that wasn’t just for learning.

‘Oh yes,’ he says with emphasis, ‘anything happens to this here car and I’m telling your boy it was _all you_ ,’ he says, pulling at those last words and dragging them out.

‘Coach,’ Bitty says, rolling his eyes, ‘he’s still not “my boy”.’

‘Son,’ Coach says, smile whispering at the corner of his mouth, ‘I saw the way he was lookin’ at you, and that poor boy is absolutely done for.’ Bitty sputters at that for a bit, but it’s all for show. The idea that his father could not only pick up on that from Jack, but that he would _tease_ Bitty about it good naturedly, is beyond the level of acceptance he had ever expected from his parents. It has his cheeks warm and his heart light.

‘So where is it we’re going again, Dicky?’

‘A place on the riverfront called Nuevo? I’ve never been, but apparently Jack’s parents are regulars when they come here.’

‘Is it fancy? Do I look okay?’ His mama asks, looking down at herself and fidgeting with her dress. It’s a lovely, fifties retro style (fitted through the bodice, A lined skirt, three quarter sleeves) with a deep-green floral pattern. Bitty had helped her pick it out for an awards night for Coach a few years ago.

‘You look beautiful, Mama. You always look beautiful,’ Bitty says wistfully, because it’s true. Perfect blonde bob, heart-shaped face, big brown eyes (so like Bitty’s own) and a hundred watt smile, his mama has always been what Coach calls, ‘a looker’.

‘I told her that twenty times before we left the hotel,’ Coach pipes in from the backseat, ‘and does your mother believe me? No sir. Not ever.’ His mother rolls her eyes with familiar fondness and continues to fuss with her dress.

‘Thank you,’ she says to Bitty and then turns back to her husband, ‘and thank _you_ , honey. It never hurts to get a second opinion.’ She looks back at Bitty with a little grin that has him feeling looser as they chat back and forth through Providence traffic.

 

When they get to the restaurant, Bitty decides on street parking, to avoid Coach complaining about Yankees and their attendance fees. He pulls gracefully into a spot as the car ahead of them vacates it, reverse parallel-ing to coos from his mother (‘he takes after me, obviously’ she also adds with a wink) and a pat on the shoulder from Coach. By the time they make it into the bar area, Bob and Alicia are already waiting for them, drinks in hand.

‘Oh, Eric, hello! Sorry, we got here a little early, we were so excited to meet your parents,’ Alicia glides over in fitted chinos and a navy blazer (sleeves folded) and Bob follows in dark wash jeans and a Falconers Jersey. Bitty suddenly worries that his parents are going to feel awkward in their finery (Coach has donned a button down shirt and sport coat, looking rather dapper) and tries to hide that look from his face before leaning into a hug with Jack’s mother.

‘Alicia, Bob, these are my parents, Richard and Suzanne Bittle,’ Bitty introduces as he pulls away from Alicia, and he watches his daddy squirm a little as Alicia leans in to kiss him on either cheek, his mama blushing as she receives the same treatment.

‘So nice to meet y’all,’ Suzanne says twisting at her wedding ring and barely managing not to shuffle her feet.

‘Yeah, Junior here’s been talking some about you both for a while now, it’s good to put a face to the names,’ Coach says, as if he hasn’t watched the two hour long documentary about Bad Bob Zimmermann a thousand times with his starstruck wife, or listened (exasperatedly) to Bitty’s mama and aunt argue relentlessly about whether model/ actress/ novelist Alicia Zimmermann was too high and mighty for a good ol’ boy like Bad Bob (his mama always erring on the side of her being ‘just so glamorous’, aunt Judy on the side of ‘stuffy and stuck up’ {‘you’re just jealous, Judy, it’s ridiculous’ ‘you’re ridiculous, Suzy, and your jam is a disaster!’})

‘Well we just think the world of Eric,’ Alicia says, his mama beaming in response.

‘Shall we?’ Bob asks, gesturing to the seated area, and the rest of the party all nod in reply.

 

The waiter seats them at a quiet table in the back. It’s not as good a view of the riverfront, but it’s separated from the other diners and offers a comforting feeling of privacy without being removed from the atmosphere. A few people had turned their heads to watch their greeting and follow them to the table, but nobody has approached them or bothered them, so Bitty counts that as a win.

‘So this is your first time in Providence?’ Bob asks, Quebecan accent much more pronounced than Jack’s. Coach just nods, so Suzanne steels herself, straightening in her seat, to speak to an idol.

‘To Providence it is, but I’ve been up to Samwell three or four times for Dickie’s games and family weekends. Richard hasn’t been able to get away from football much during the season though he did manage to catch the winning game in the frozen four a few months ago,’ she says with a smile, and Coach claps Bitty on the shoulder yet again.

‘That was quite a game,’ he says, giving his son a little shake. ‘Almost cried like a baby when Junior here scored that winning goal.’ Bitty’s cheeks are warm even as he rolls his eyes at his daddy’s comment.

‘Coach, I haven’t seen you shed a single tear since the Falcons lost to the Broncos in the ninety-eight superbowl.’

‘That is true. That was a dark day, Eric, a very dark day.’ Coach says, shaking his head.

They get politely interrupted by their waiter, and Bob orders another drink for himself and Alicia, Suzanne ordering a Pilsner for Coach (‘We have the Firestone Pivo Pils, ma'am,’ ‘Oh well that sounds lovely’), a glass of champagne for herself, (‘Prosecco?’ ‘Perfect,’ though the raised eyebrow she flicks to Bitty suggests she has no idea what she’s agreed to) and a cherry coke for Bitty.

‘Ah, mama?’ Bitty interrupts gently, ‘I wouldn’t mind a hard cider actually,’

‘Oh, honey, of course, silly me,’ she flusters, nodding at the waiter as he changes the order, ‘it’s so hard to remember you’re not my little baby anymore.’

Jack’s parents smile softly at the slip up but don’t say anything. They all spend some time looking over the menu and explaining some of the more exotic options to Bitty’s parents. By the time the waiter comes back with their drinks, they’re ready to order.

Bob orders the Chicken Francese (Bitty has him obsessed with lemons after those lemon bars) and holds his and his wife's menu out to the waiter as she orders the sirloin, hold the baguette (explaining the omission as a long standing feud she’s having with carbs). Bitty’s mama orders the linguine (because carbs and Suzanne Bittle have always been friends) and Coach asks Bitty to order him the veal scalloppine (because he's too afraid to attempt the pronunciation). Bitty decides on the charred octopus to satisfy a curiosity; but actually, as delicious as the octopus is, the white bean ragout beneath it is what has him chatting animatedly with the chef - thanks to Bob. He thinks, with pancetta and a little wilted spinach on toast it would be perfect for Jack’s breakfast (cannellini beans are high in protein, not that Bitty has been researching… much).

 

While they eat, Coach asks Bob about Jack.

‘How do you deal with it? With the publicity?’ He blurts, no preamble.

‘It’s second nature now, I think.’ Bob says, looking thoughtful. ‘We’ve been in the public eye so long it's skewed us a little. Jack’s never really known anything else.’

‘Don’t you worry? About Jack?’

‘I worry about my son every day. But I also trust him.’ Bob says evenly, aggression somewhere below the surface.

‘Even after everything that happened?’ Suzanne asks, food momentarily forgotten.

‘He’s been through so much. He’s stronger and smarter now, he makes the right decisions for himself and we trust him,’ Alicia answers, soft but firm. Neither of Bitty’s parents seem to want to question that further.

‘Our Eric,’ his mama starts, ‘Eric has been through a lot as well, and we didn’t realise...’ she stops, and after a moment shakes her head and goes back to her lunch.

Coach follows her train of thought and picks up where she dropped it, ‘We didn’t realise how bad it had been until later,’ he says, looking over at Bitty and sighing, smiling sadly. ‘Our boy doesn’t like us to worry.’

‘Can we not talk about this right now, Coach,’ Bitty says, polite as possible, burying his anger down and away.

‘Just let me say... I just want to say, that I can see how much you boys feel for one another, and your mama and I are happy to see you find someone, we really are.’ Coach says, eyes on his son. ‘But we worry about Jack.’

‘You don’t need to worry about Jack,’ Bob responds as Alicia says,

‘Our son would never hurt Eric.’

‘He might not mean to, but all this media, all these photos, and news stories, all the awful things they’re saying about my boy, it hurts him.’ Coach’s grip on the fork in his hand has his knuckles almost blue.

‘I’m not a kid anymore, Coach, you don’t get to decide that for me,’ Bitty says, anger refusing to stay buried.

‘I know that, junior, I’m not trying to decide for you, your mama and I just want to be honest about how we feel.’

‘We can appreciate that,’ Alicia says, still a little wary.

‘And Jack seems like a good man,’ Coach continues.

‘He is.’ Bob states vehemently.

‘And a hell of a hockey player,’

‘The best.’ And somehow, switching to hockey pulls the conversation back to neutral.

‘Well, maybe he’s got some competition there.’ Coach winks at Bitty, who rolls his eyes at the gesture, anger forgotten in the face of exasperation.

Bob laughs and nods his head. ‘True, I’ve seen some tape of Eric’s games, you’ve got a real talent, kiddo.’ Coach nods along.

‘Jack has some height and weight on him, but my boy is the fastest skater you’ve ever seen. And with that coordination? Never quite found a running back better than my son.’ Bitty waits for the disappointment, holds his breath and braces for it. ‘Course it would’a been a shame if he’d never taken up hockey, he’s just taken to it like he was born for it.’

Bitty lets his breath out slowly and tries not to look as surprised as he feels. Bob and Alicia are smiling now and his mama is watching him with pride. Coach has gone back to his meal like he hasn’t just smashed every fear of being a huge embarrassment to his father that Bitty has long held. He eats the rest of his lunch as if he’s shifted a whole section of himself just a little to the left. Everything is just a slightly off, but not in a bad way, necessarily. Just… different.

 

Bob insists on paying for lunch and Bitty stays his parents’ hands as they try to protest. It’s a nice gesture and they should let him make it. He drives his parents back to the hotel and accompanies them to their room (it’s nice, not fancy, but comfortable and clean) and helps his mama pick out jeans, boots (the ankle boots he helped her buy when she visited him over the winter) and a cute pink sweater that she almost never gets to wear in Georgia.

‘I’m surprised how well you packed in such a hurry, mama.’

‘Honestly, I was just throwing everything from my winter boxes into the suitcase, honey, I’m surprised I’ve even got underwear, to be truthful.’

‘It’s summer, mama’

‘Summer here isn’t real summer, Dicky, darlin, it’s just a warmer winter.’ Bitty laughs but gives her a little poke at the hip for being cheeky, the same way she used to tickle at him when he was younger, and she swats at him for it, catching him on the shoulder.

Coach tsks at them as he exits the bathroom wearing his best jeans and a short sleeved Falconers polo top.

‘Where on earth did you even get that?’ Bitty asks when he sees it.

‘Ordered it online about two weeks ago.’ Coach replies. ‘Got it expressed so I’d have it for the playoffs. Fits okay? Right?’ he asks, looking down at himself critically. Bitty’s father has always seemed such an imposing figure, only a few inches taller than Bitty but much bigger in the chest and arms, still reasonably trim through his middle (he coaches his boys hard, and leads by example) and with a rusted red moustache that even Shitty is impressed by (he dedicated some truly terrifying poetry to it after an epic kegster at the hockey house last year). Bitty can honestly say, as he smooths down his daddy’s collar and the folds at his shoulders, that he’s looking great.

 

When they make it to the game, picking up their tickets from a smiling Kathy, Bitty introduces his nervous parents to the other Falconers family members and isn’t at all surprised (but _is_ overwhelmingly delighted) by the amount of warmth and support with which he and they are received. Mahdokht all but demands they exchange numbers so that she can keep tabs on Bitty for them (he’s paraphrasing, but this is essentially exactly what she meant) and stares Bitty down until he promises never to dodge her calls again (to be fair, he had no idea it was her calling, she’d gotten his number from Tater). Suzanne is furiously flushed under the attention of Carrie and Gabby, and Coach and Bob have been nabbed by Alicia to talk strategy with Poots’ dad, Alec. Poots’ older brother has flown in from the east coast for the home game and fawns over Mahdokht, being a pre-veterinary science student at Stanford, asking endless questions about her work and the animal hospital she co-owns. Bitty listens attentively, fascinated by the stories and the passion with which they both speak about animals and their studies and work. Bitty isn’t sure he’s ever been as passionate about anything, except maybe food, and wonders if he should think about whether he really wants to pursue his communications and media enterprises once his degree is over.

 

It’s obvious as the game starts and continues, that Bitty, his parents, and the Zimmermanns are a major crowd focus for the media. He catches them all on the big screen intermittently throughout the first period and then for an inordinately drawn out close up when, eight minutes into the second period, Jack shoots the puck right into the back of the net for the first goal of the night. Coach and his mama clasp hands and Bob and Alicia reach over from their seats behind them to grab all three of them into a five person hug. Bob of course, ruffles Bitty’s hair and leans in to hook his elbow around Bitty’s neck (once a hockey boy, always a hockey boy, apparently) and the crowd eat it up. Bitty can’t believe how not-aggressive the crowd has actually been with him all night. But he supposes it might be a different story if he were to come across a fan away from the crowds and the Zimmermanns, whose attention and presence just naturally dissuades any kind of foul play.

 

The Sharks score four minutes from the final buzzer to tie up the game and the Falconers can’t seem to get one back over them. It’s two and a half minutes into overtime when Tater shoots a no look pass right to Jack’s waiting stick and he slaps it straight into the corner for the game winning goal. He points right at Bitty as soon as the puck hits the net and Bitty swears he can see the white of Jack’s teeth gleaming under the lights as his smile threatens to blind them all. Bitty’s mama has tears in her eyes and Mads gives her a soft hug as the Falconers envelope Jack, and their families envelope Bitty. He never realised it would be so simultaneously frightening and freeing to be loved as his one hundred percent genuine self. Coach’s smile, as he and Bob shake hands (eyes never really leaving Bitty) fills him with the most rewarding contentment he’s ever felt. His father is _happy_ for him. Happy _with him_. Happy because of everything that Bitty is and everything he has done. All the decisions he has made and all the pieces of himself that he’s always felt were just a part of him, never a choice he could or couldn’t make, are inspiring a quiet _pride_ in his father and it fills Bitty’s heart with love.

 

Bob and Alicia offer to take Bitty’s parents back to their hotel so that Bitty and Jack can spend some time together before Jack leaves for California and the next two games. They bid the team a quick goodbye amidst much chirping and a hug from Tater that legitimately bruises Bitty’s ribs (well, if _feels_ legit). They’ll be emailing back and forth about the vlog segments (scheduling with the Mashkov’s is a nightmare) so Bitty promises to be in touch as soon as he can. Cameras catch footage of Bitty and Jack interacting together and with the rest of the team, which Bitty is sure George has instigated. Jack dodges any interviews and Marty and Guy help he and Bitty escape before they go to face the press together in Jack’s stead. Bitty leads Jack to where he had parked Jack’s car and they get snapped by a few fans and a few, Bitty is sure, incognito reporters, but they make it relatively unscathed and intact. Aside from having their fingers threaded and their eyes locked, they haven’t said much more than rounds of _hello_ , _congratulations_ and _thank you_ since meeting up outside the locker room. Once inside the safety of the car, Jack turns to Bitty and looks him up and down with a smirk.

‘You look nice,’ he says, raising his eyebrows. In solidarity, Bitty had chosen to wear Jack’s number and, with vanity, wear it in the style of a very fitted, raglan, grey and (Falconers) blue, three quarter sleeve tee-shirt paired with his tight, faded, threadbare jeans. They take off, and Jack keeps his eyes on Bitty so long that they actually veer slightly, scraping the tires into the curb on the passenger side. Jack overcorrects a little (letting out a frantically whispered ‘fuck’) to slip into the lane on the left, which is, blessedly, free of traffic.

‘Maybe you should just concentrate on the road, honey,’ Bitty says with a chuckle once he’s eased his hand off the dash. Jack grumbles that maybe Eric should’ve bought a shirt the next size up if he wanted his boyfriend to effectively operate heavy machinery in his presence. It breaks the slight tension they’ve held onto so far and has them smiling for rest of the short drive home.

 

‘Can I show you something, Jack?’ Bitty asks, once they’re in the apartment and Jack has thrown his suit jacket over the back of the lounge.

‘Sure,’ Jack replies, one eyebrow raised and the hint of a question in his emphasis. Bitty has had the video cued up since he got changed in Jack’s empty apartment before the game. He pulls Jack gently into the study and wakes up the monitor, hits play and sits back to watch Jack watch the screen. It takes a second of confusion before Jack recognises a fifteen year old Bitty in a simple midnight blue, long sleeved figure skating costume (a black vertical stripe up the outside seam of the legs and a slightly squared neckline) as he sets up to skate his competition program. From the commentary, Jack should garner that this is Bitty’s free skate at the South Atlantic Regional championships. He might also garner that Bitty manages, during his routine, to land a clean triple axel and a triple-lutz - triple toe combination. His skate is so clean and so artistic that he scores well above the other competitors and is a shoe-in for first place and a spot in the sectional championship to push all the way through nationals to worlds. What Jack can’t see from the video, is that Bitty never gets there.

‘This is you, Eric.’

‘It is, sweetpea.’

‘What… What is this?’

            ‘It’s my free skate, honey, from six years ago. I won the regionals that year, got myself a ticket to the sectionals.’

‘I didn’t… I mean I knew you skated before hockey but you never said… I didn’t know it was like this.’ Bitty can see that Jack is shocked by the caliber of Bitty’s talent and the passion of that routine.

‘I could’ve been amazing,’ Bitty says, drawn back into the memory of the costumes, the music, the years of bloody, sweaty, painful work behind the seemingly effortless movement of his body.

 

Jack looks at Bitty and can surely see the sadness pouring out of him. And the anger. ‘You _could_ have?’ he asks. Bitty nods. ‘But you didn’t make it?’ Bitty shakes his head in agreement.

‘I had an... incident.’

Jack doesn’t ask for clarification, he just takes Bitty’s hand and waits for him to carry on at his own pace. His skin is so warm against Bitty’s, familiar and comfortable, he grips at it and closes his eyes tight. ‘A long time ago, when I had just turned thirteen, some boys from my daddy’s football team thought it would be real funny to rough me up a bit and lock me in the utility closet overnight.’ He rushes the words and Jack squeezes his hand, but he can hear that Jack is breathing a bit quicker. He opens his eyes and can see the stiffness in his jaw. ‘I didn’t think it was so funny.’ Bitty says, looking away, knowing he can’t really talk about that night still, even with his therapist. ‘I tried not to think about it too much, you know, be happy, be positive, mama would get real antsy and flustered if I didn’t seem like myself so I just went on pretending like I was fine, you know.’ Jack nods, because if anyone can relate, it’s Jack Zimmermann, the poster child for junior hockey success, hockey royalty, under so much pressure to be perfect, a drug overdose and a mental breakdown nearly ruining his career before he’d reached adulthood.

 

‘Anyway, we moved,’ Bitty continues, ‘so it’s not like I had to deal with those boys again, it was easy to push it down, just pretend it wasn’t there.’

‘Bits,’ Jack whispers and Bitty shakes his head again, willing Jack not to interrupt so he can just get this out.

‘But then one day, one of the seniors thought it would be a hoot to try and stuff me in his locker, like, because I was so small and they were sure I would fit.’ He rushes now, to say what he needs to say. ‘I just saw that tiny space and his hand was pushing on my head and his other hand was pulling on my arm and I panicked.’ Bitty flashes back in the moment to that feeling, to being forced into that tiny space, to those hands on him, hurting him, twisting at him and breaking him and he can feel his heart rate pick up, can feel his chest squeezing. ‘I just, I just tried to pull and he wouldn’t let go and I screamed and he laughed and I kicked out but my legs couldn’t reach him and then I just ripped my arm away, I ripped so hard you could hear it tear and he dropped me like I’d burned him.’ Bitty grabs at his shoulder where he can still feel that tear sometimes, still feel his muscles wrenching away from his joint, can still feel that desperate need to run, to get away. Jack is shushing him, trying to hug him and Bitty’s just shaking in his arms, sucking in breaths and trying to talk at the same time. ‘These people kept coming and they were standing over me and they were talking at me and I just screamed and screamed at them from the floor, couldn’t even remember where I was or why I was screaming.’ He tries to breathe, use actual speech in a way Jack can understand and not just half cried gibberish. ‘Then I was in an ambulance and they gave me a shot of something, put me out. I woke up to mama and Coach just sitting there at the end of a hospital bed, no words to say.’

 

There's a silence while they both wait, Bitty trying to match Jack’s steadier breathing as he holds Bitty to his chest and pats his hair. He can smell Jack’s grocery store brand body wash and his dry cleaned shirt, but underneath he can smell Jack’s sweat and he tries to press that into himself. It’s a scent he’s beginning to crave. That should scare him, but its so darn comforting he doesn’t have the energy to care about anything else. Finally Jack seems satisfied with the state of Bitty and pulls back a little.

‘Is that when they diagnosed it? Your PTS, from being trapped in that closet?’ Bitty looks at him and shakes his head. ‘What happened?’

‘They had to do surgery on my shoulder and I had to take some time off from a lot of things to do rehab and to get back to school.’

‘No more skating?’

‘No more skating,’ Bitty shrugs helplessly, ‘I missed the sectionals with the injury and we spent so much money on the surgery, it took forever to get any insurance back and by the time we did, I was done. I didn’t have it in me to try and get it back.’

‘But hockey?’

‘Yeah, sweetpea, hockey.’ Bitty smiles, ‘I thought it might give me something to take my mind off things, I could be a little bit angry and nobody minded. I could skate and not feel any pressure. And there wasn’t any real checking or nastiness, I had a lot of fun actually.’

‘Sounds a little different to the hockey I remember,’ Jack says with a huff of laughter and Bitty lifts his hand up to push the stray hairs off Jack’s forehead.

‘Very different, I’m guessing,’ he says back, as Jack presses into Bitty’s hand.

‘And then Samwell?’ Jack asks, edging ever closer so that Bitty has to just about climb into Jack’s lap (they’ve somehow, through all Bitty’s dramatic recounting, ended up on Jack’s floor).

‘They offered me a scholarship.’ Bitty laughs, still not quite believing they could see scholarship worthy material from his little hockey league tape. ‘And then they didn’t quite get what they bargained for.’

‘Bits, no. You’re amazing!’

‘Oh I can skate, for sure. And I have good hands, they were right about that,’ he says with a wink just to see Jack smile, ‘but I couldn’t take a check to save myself. Just dropped clean onto the ice and froze up solid.’

‘You’re exaggerating.’

‘Nope, god’s honest truth. Just ask any of the boys, or Lardo will tell you. It was a nightmare.’

‘Okay, so…’

‘So how am I still playing?’ Jack nods, ‘Well the coaches, they thought maybe it was a mental block, you know, so they sent me right to a sports counselor and they had half a session with me and sent me right on to a sports psychologist. After a few more sessions they diagnosed the PTSD. Put me on a couple of different med combinations, taught me some coping mechanisms. Encouraged me to work through the trauma I had locked away. I’m finally down to just the lexapro and I feel good most of the time, I guess.’

‘You guess?’

‘Well... you know what I mean.’

‘I do know what you mean,’ Jack smiles, ‘I feel good most of the time too.’ He pulls Bitty all the way into his lap, ‘especially when I’m with you, Bits.’ Bitty lets out a deep sigh and rests his head on Jack’s gorgeous shoulder.

‘You’re too good to me, honey,’ he whispers, feeling empty, spent, but safe and lighter somehow.

‘Just good enough, I think. Just the perfect amount,’ Jack says, running his hands up and down Bitty’s back. ‘Although, I have a feeling I could make you feel even better.’

‘Ha! You have such a one track mind, Jack Zimmermann.’

‘We don’t have to if you don’t want to Bits,’ Jack says seriously, ‘I’m happy just to wake up next to you.’

‘My goodness, Jack,’ Bitty says with a laugh, ‘you have certainly learned how to sweet talk your way into my pants.’

‘That is _not_ what I was trying to do,’ Jack says, looking stricken.

‘That’s what makes it so damn infallible, mister,’ he says, punctuating that statement with a slap to Jack’s impressive chest. ‘But maybe we could eat something first?’

 

Which is how they end up in the kitchen, Jack cooking grilled cheese sandwiches in his briefs and Bitty enjoying just watching him for a change. They make it to the bedroom eventually and Jack puts his mouth on Bitty, but it’s slow and soft and sweet this time. There's nothing on Jack’s mind but to drive Bitty crazy, setting his nerve endings to ‘good, good, so fucking _good_ , Jack,’ until he can’t think anymore beyond _yes_ and spills himself across Jack’s collarbones. Jack just wipes himself down (with what, Bitty doesn’t even know or care) and tucks Bitty up like a bug in a rug, wrapping his giant arms around him and pressing his swollen lips into Bitty’s throat. Bitty’s last thought before he falls asleep is that now, after the day he’s had, well he’s sure he knows what love feels like. And maybe it’s time to let Jack all the way in, and tell him so.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning:** some tough conversations about bullying and Panic attacks and for experiencing an almost panic attack as Bitty tries to talk to Jack about his past and his trauma - including descriptions of how it felt to sustain a serious shoulder injury during a somewhat violent altercation.
> 
> I really enjoyed this chapter - though it took a long time to get it out, because it was not easy to write, it felt fucking _therapeutic_ to explore some of this stuff.
> 
> Thanks to [Kalee60](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60) for all her love and support, always (but especially for this chapter) and thanks to [jujubeans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans) for her tireless work to make these chapters shiny.
> 
> \- I'll probs be posting fortnightly until the end now. Though I have it all mapped - I just want to make sure I do it justice, you know? But thanks for all the encouragement and positivity. You are all just the loveliest bunch of readers a girl could ask for. keep commenting! I feed off your love!! (it makes me so so happy to hear from you) and also, I like to get a sense of what's working and what's not, so comments are kind of invaluable - the longer, the better xxx  
> =^.^=


	13. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty does some light research into (redacted)
> 
> Jack doesn't mind it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two left after this... are you getting excited? 
> 
> Special thanks goes to two people for this chapter: the amazing and talented [jujubeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans) for all her tirelessly hard work in getting these chapters in tip top shape. And to Jacquee for the inspiration for Jack's impassioned speach about Bitty. What a gorgeous idea! See? I would be nothing without my readers ;)
> 
> Enjoy xxx
> 
> oh, umm... warnings, some light dom/ sub in here. see end notes for spoilery stuff.

Bitty uses most of thursday talking to his parents about how he’s feeling and what he’s thinking. It’s exhausting, and he doesn’t even believe most of what he’s saying, but he does his damndest to get _them_ to believe that he’s going to be okay. They get room service (which his mama thinks is the most decadent thing she’s ever done in her life) and lounge around watching pay-per-view movies on the flatscreen. By the end of the day, his parents convince him to go back to Samwell and get settled in, get a good night’s rest and prepare to face reality.

‘You can’t hide in a hotel room forever, Eric,’ his mama coos softly, kissing him on the forehead. ‘Eventually you have to show this world your beautiful face, darlin’, and when you do, they will love you. I promise.’

‘You can’t promise that, mama,’

‘I can honey, because it’s true. There is not one person out there that wouldn’t love you if they met you, Eric Richard Bittle, and if they try to make you think they hate you, it’s only because they truly hate themselves.’ She says it quietly, Bitty’s face held protectively in her warm, gentle hands. ‘You are a fierce light in a dark room, darlin’, don’t ever forget how precious you are.’  He cries as he hugs his parents goodbye, not sure when he’ll get to see them again. Not sure if he can be as brave as they seem to believe he is. Not sure he deserves to be loved as wholly as they seem to love him. So, so sure that he has the most wonderful parents on god’s green Earth.

Bitty gets home from Jack’s to a worried Nursey (inexplicably back for a ‘holiday’ at the house) and a hovering Dex, and makes arrangements to be back at work in the morning. He doesn’t have the heart to bake, so the boys buy him a pizza and he decides to spend a little time researching how realistic it might be for couples with similar anxieties and depressive disorders to be happy together. He very quickly gets sidetracked by some suspiciously, accurately targeted google advertising and begins instead researching different ways he might be able to explore his and Jack’s complementary bedroom kinks (much more fun. Much less depressing).

 

Bitty spends the next day in a hushed office with an uncomfortably reticent boss. It’s not that their department head isn’t sympathetic to Bitty’s situation, but he is worried about how the internship will look to people outside the Red Sox team (is what he tells Bitty in a super awkward, stilted meeting in his big fancy office, with the door _open_ ). It’s a lot of attention, especially when it’s considered negative, whether because it’s scandalous or because Bitty is now openly homosexual and working for a well respected sporting team (‘which really amounts to the same thing doesn’t it?’ Bitty says over the phone to Lardo). It’s only scandalous because he and Jack are in a relationship and they both happen to be men, and Jack also happens to be a nationally recognised athlete. Bitty can feel his colleagues collectively holding their breath with the expectation of drama, drama, drama as he tries to sink ever further into his ergonomic office chair and disappear into the folds.

 

The atmosphere’s oppressive, and nobody has said anything directly, but he has a feeling like his days might be numbered. Which makes Shitty so furious, he threatens to come down and sue them should they try to terminate his internship or threaten his prospects. Bitty isn’t sure he has the energy or the wherewithal to enter into that kind of fight. Especially when he knows the whole world will be watching.

    ‘That’s the reason it’s so important, kiddo, ’ Shitty says, incensed.

    ‘I’m just not sure I want to be anybody’s poster boy, Shits,’ Bitty says into the phone, resigned. ‘The idea of it makes my skin crawl.’ The whole body shiver Bitty experiences at the thought is evidentiary.

    ‘You have to stand up for yourself, Bitty! Give the fucking assholes your game face and let them know you cannot be reamed.’

    ‘Shitty, apart from the fact that I can prove that is factually _un_ true, I also have a mightily unimpressive game face.’

    ‘Look, okay, your hockey game face may not be that intimidating, but you should’ve seen you, that night you found out I let Chowder sleep on the toxic green couch when he was trashed. I mean, my life flashed before my eyes that night, Bit-meister. You were terrifying.’ Bitty laughs at the memory of Shitty falling to his knees in prayer at the sight of a furious Bitty, and then crinkles his nose at the thought of anybody touching that couch without a hazmat suit.

    ‘Shitty, that couch is a travesty. You’re lucky I’m a pacifist.’

    ‘Lies! You're as much a mild-mannered pacifist as Beyonce is a talentless hack!’ Bitty gasps in shock at the blasphemy. He _isn’t_ surprised by how well his friend understands him.

    ‘Well, only you and I need to know that, _Bernard_ ,’ he says, after taking a moment to collect himself

    ‘And Jack, I’m guessing.’

    ‘Shitty Knight, mind your own damn business.’

    ‘Alright, I’ll let it slide this time Bits, but I’m gonna want deets eventually,’ Shitty says, humpfing with displeasure, ‘and the whole first name thing is a low blow.’

    ‘Well that’s what you get for taking The Queen’s name in vain.’

Shitty hangs up grumbling about verbal irony and dissimiles and Bitty smiles at the rhetoric. Bless his supporting but overbearing friends. They do mean well.

 

    ‘He’s definitely not smiling later as he watches Jack and the Falcs go down two points to three in the third game of the series. And he’s near ready to boil over as he watches the press force mics into Jack’s face and ask inappropriate after inappropriate question about how the scandal surrounding him is affecting his game and whether it might be better for him to stand down as captain while he and his alleged ‘companion’ are causing the team so much distraction.

    ‘Listen, I’m going to say this to all of you, once, and once only.’ Silence surrounds him, light bulbs flashing, ‘Eric Bittle is not my-’ Jack mimes air quotes with his fingers, ‘- _companion_ .’ He turns his head to stare those hauntingly ice blue eyes down the lens of the camera. ‘He is my boyfriend. He and I are in a committed relationship that will, if I have any say in it, last a very long time. If not forever.’ No one dares to interrupt him. ‘In the last week, I’ve seen nothing but slander and libel thrown in our faces, and I’d like to clarify, Eric is not a “ _boytoy_ ”, he is not a “ _puck bunny”,_ he is not “ _chasing fame_ ” or “ _riding my coattails_ ”.’ His expression is thunderous. ‘I don’t know if any of you out there are true hockey fans, but those of you who are will have seen Eric score the game-winning goal at the frozen four this year.’ Here his face takes on a little more of the personality Bitty knows he hides beneath his mask. ‘You would know how fast he is, how well he skates, how soft his hands are,’ he actually blushes, Jack _blushes_ as he says that. Bitty’s heart is in his throat, ‘and you should know that I was so nervous the night I first saw him, that I was too afraid to go up and talk to him because _I_ was intimidated by _him_ . How beautiful he was. Not just on the ice, but the way he slid between the groups of people at that club like he was liquid sunshine. And then he was knocked into me, _knocked_ into _me_!’ Jack smiles with a far away look on his face and the rest of the room is under a spell, Bitty is just as smitten. ‘Like it was a sign.’ He stares back down at his audience with resolve. ‘I defy anyone to speak to him for more than five minutes and not see what I see. And I’ll tell you this for free. I am a man, and yes, Eric is a man, and we are dating. And this is America, and one of the best things about this country, and my home country, and most of the western world now? I have the right to date him, and love him and marry him if I want to. And you, none of you, get to make me feel like that is a crime, like it’s somehow detrimental to my team, to hockey. So back off. Or don’t expect to be getting any respect from me, my team, or anyone that has half a brain in their head. Okay?’ he looks around the room and mustn’t hear or see any objections. ‘Good, great. See you next game.’ And with that, and to the sounds of frantic questions asked seconds too late, Jack is gone.

 

    Eric is left staring at the television like the world just exploded in his living room. Which for all intents and purposes, it did. Dex and Nursey, still at the house and watching with him, are just as dumbstruck. It’s at least two minutes before anyone can manage to make sounds with their mouths.

    ‘Jesus Christ, Bitty,’ Nursey says, turning to Bitty with awe, ‘are you getting _married_?’

    ‘You owe me fifty bucks,’ Dex tries to say quietly to Nurse, but Bitty hears him just fine.

    ‘William Pointdexter!’ he says, finding a nice, close target for the squirmy, nervous butterflies trying to break through his ribcage, ‘tell me you are not _bettin’ on my lovelife!_ ’

 

    Jack still has another game on Monday before he comes home to Bitty. And there is so much that Bitty needs to say, so much he wants to be able to say to Jack’s face, but can’t hold onto any longer. So much that just needs to be set free.

    ‘Jack!’ he calls breathlessly down the phone when it picks up after barely one ring.

    ‘Bits.’ Jack sighs. He sounds about ready to collapse.

    ‘Oh, honey, you sound just awful,’ Bitty says, wishing he could lean into Jack and ease a little of that tension.

    ‘We lost.’

    ‘I know, honey.’

    ‘I played okay, but they played better.’

    ‘Y’all didn’t both make it to the playoffs by playing crappy hockey, you know,’

    ‘Yeah, I know,’ he says. Bitty can hear the start of a smile.

    ‘I saw you.’ Bitty says, working his way up to the confrontation.

    ‘You did?’ Jack asks, hesitant.

    ‘Yeah, hon, I did.’

    ‘And?’

    ‘And I… and I just… I can’t believe you said that, Jack.’

    ‘You… you can’t?’ Jack’s voice has lost its life. ‘Are you… are you angry with me?’

    ‘Angry?’

    ‘I didn’t mean to get so carried away.’

    ‘Jack, no. Sweetpea… I… I love you so much, I just-’ Silence follows the statement, and Bitty hopes that Jack is still there.

    ‘You do, you love me?’ Jack is quiet, hesitant.

    ‘Yes, of course I do, you idiot!’ Bitty practically shouts into the phone.

    ‘ _Crisse_ , Bits, you had me so worried!’

    ‘I didn't... I didn't want to tell you over the phone, is all, honey. I wanted to be able to tell you in person. But I couldn’t wait.’ Bitty lets his mouth just run right away. ‘I couldn’t wait to tell you. I can’t believe you said all those things about me. Lord!’ He’s crying now, again, for the millionth time this week, ‘I can’t believe you said all that to the whole world, Jack. You’re crazy!’

    ‘I’m not crazy, Bits. How many times do I have to tell you that.’ He says it, and Bitty can hear him laughing. ‘God, I love you, too.’

That night, instead of sleeping, Bitty catches all the wayward, rambling ideas in his poor overwhelmed mind and starts to make a plan.

  
  


Bitty’s face is everywhere come Sunday, but this time, the press is much more favourable. They play clips of Bitty, the Zimmermanns and the wider Falconers family from all of Jack’s home games, they play the clip of Jack pointing to Bitty after his game winning goal with the world’s widest smile (‘I mean, who knew Zimmermann even had more than one expression?’). They play footage of Tater shouting down one at of the Sharks’ players as he tosses him around by the scruff of the neck, clearly discernible, the words, ‘you don’t talk about my baker!’ and ‘do not _touch_ him! He’s _family_!). They play the clip of Jack’s diatribe about ten million times and Bitty has to turn his phone off completely just to keep it from ringing the battery down to nothing. As long as it’s on it just will not stop.

 

He tells Jack to concentrate on his routines and his practice, to stick with Tater and keep things light. To not talk to anyone that doesn’t want to talk to him about hockey and only hockey. And Jack listens, because for some reason he’s put his trust and his faith in Bitty. And bless his heart, but Bitty has done the same in return. Finally. It was simply impossible not to.

 

There is still hate from some commentators, there is still hate from some fans. But by and large they both find that there is a lot of support out there, too. And beyond all expectation, it drowns out the nasty stuff and keeps Bitty in one piece to make it through the weekend. Nursey and Dex bicker and argue like Statler and Waldorf, only agreeing when the joke is at someone else’s expense (usually Chowder’s, but while he’s away it falls to Bitty to be the butt) and he’s buoyed by the look he catches every now and then on Nursey’s face. He can see the infatuation, and it’s softened by real fondness. Soon he isn’t so worried about how the pair of them might end up. Whatever happens, at least there is a real attachment there.

 

They all sit down to watch the game together on Monday. Dex makes buttery pretzels for good luck and Nursey eats so many he collapses into Dex’s lap to get his belly rubbed. The pretzels seem to work as well for Jack as they have for Dex as they watch him score the opening goal just seven minutes into the first period. And then the second period opens to Poots driving one straight past Jones in goal on a power play. They lament for poor Chowder, wherever he may be, but there’s nothing that can keep the giant grins off all three of their faces. Karlsson scores for San Jose in the third, but it’s answered by Guy with only a few minutes left of play and he’s flattened under the weight of first five, but soon, near twenty grown men as they all pile onto poor Guy. Tears flow, hair is ruffled, helmets collide and fists are bumped as the players see their series take on a three - one lead. They play the last two minutes but it’s hardly necessary. Just one more win in the next three games and the Falconers will have back to back Stanley cups.

 

Bitty floats through work on Tuesday and barely notices what he’s doing. He certainly doesn’t pay any mind to his gossiping colleagues or his twitchy boss. He gets through his work on autopilot (he’s pretty sure this internship is dead in the water anyway) and catches the train to Jack’s with his duffel full of secret presents (purchases that Lardo very handily helped him make). Heavy (metaphorically) and sensitive (in nature), they have Bitty feeling a little nervous and a lot excited about how Jack might react to what Bitty has in store for him.

 

Jack opens the door and looks absolutely wrecked.

‘Sweetpea!’ Bitty says, dropping his bag and wrapping Jack into a tight, fierce hug.

‘Bits.’ Jack says, leaning into Bitty and breathing deep through his nose at the nape of his neck. ‘Fuck, I missed you.’

‘I missed you too, sweets. I’ve been floatin’ around just waitin’ to see you all day.’

‘ _Crisse_ , I love how you smell.’ Bitty just laughs silently, shoulders shaking with it.

‘Let me inside, you big lug. I’m gonna cook you something special.’

 

Jack watches Bitty while he flits around his favourite kitchen. He puts Jack to work dicing (if he has to give him a few hands-on lessons, hands literally on, who can blame a boy). He blanches the lobster tails in boiling water before finishing them in the pan with a tarragon and vermouth butter reduction. He serves steamed asparagus on the side with potato gratin, and Jack eats with more pleasure than Bitty has ever seen on his face - at least to do with food (that’s been served on a plate, anyway).

 

    Bitty asks Jack to pack the dishwasher while he freshens up with a quick shower, and he sneaks into the ensuite to clean himself as best he can and set up the bed the way his very thorough research (and a few practice sessions on his own, smaller bed) have taught him to. When he comes out of the bedroom in grey sweats and Jack’s favourite of Bitty’s tanks, Jack is waiting for him, leaning back against the kitchen bench with a tired but warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

    ‘What’s for dessert, Bits?’

    ‘Well, sugar, wouldn’t you like to know,’ and Bitty takes Jack’s hand and leads him into the bedroom where he’s stashed the duffel and its contents.

    ‘What’s the special occasion, Bits?’

    ‘Why, don’t you know, honey?’ and Bitty can hear the gears in Jack’s brain grinding to find a position. ‘You don’t remember where we were one month ago?’

    ‘I… _tabernak_ Eric. I missed our anniversary.’

    ‘Not by much, Jack, and I didn’t want to interrupt your focus for the game,’ he says, softly pushing Jack down onto the bed, gently forcing him all the way down until he’s lying with his head on the pillows, feet at the foot. ‘In fact, I expressly told Tater not to let anything steal your attention from your game and I never mentioned or hinted at it, just to make sure.’ Jack holds onto the hand that Bitty’s been using to push at his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around it and not letting go.

    ‘Bits, I should’ve remembered. You’re more important than a game to me.’

    ‘Of course I am, sugar, for the big stuff, you bet I am. But the little things, one month anniversaries and date nights with your boyfriend, I think a championship is allowed to take precedence, honey. Sometimes at least,’ he says with a smile. He wonders, briefly, if they’ll be having this same argument in reverse in ten years’ time. He cuts-off Jack’s rebuttal before it begins, by pulling out a set of padded leather wrist cuffs from his bag. Jack stares at them with wide eyes and allows Bitty to fasten them around his wrists, and then to the restraint system he’s attached beneath the mattress.

    ‘Is this okay, sweetpea? You feel okay?’

    Jack nods furiously. All semblance of his lethargy has disappeared and there is colour in his cheeks that makeup artists would kill for.

    ‘I’m gonna need you to use your words, honey.’

    ‘Yes, fuck, Eric, yes, it’s good.’

    ‘Do you know how to use the traffic light system, Jack?’

    Jack nods again.

    ‘I need you to say it for me, please, Jack.’

    ‘I do, Eric, I have… I’ve used it before.’

    ‘Okay, well I’ve never done anything like this before, Jack, so I want you to make sure you tell me everything you’re feeling, okay, honey? I want to hear you, and I want you to tell me the minute anything we do makes you uncomfortable, okay?’

    ‘Yes, babe, yes, I will.’ Jack struggles a little to reach for Bitty and is stopped short by his restraints.

    ‘Do you want to be able to pull on it like that, honey? Or should I loosen it? Tighten it?’

    ‘No, no, this is good. It feels good to struggle a little. I can feel it holding me down.’

    ‘And you like that.’

    ‘Mm hmm… oui.’ Jack’s breathing is already a little faster and Bitty can see that he’s really having to concentrate to form the words he’s looking for.

    ‘Good, that’s good, honey.’ Bitty stands at the end of the bed and traces a finger down Jack’s bare leg. He’s wearing only his workout shorts and a loose black tank, but he looks just as god-like as ever. All carved marble and dark hair, beard filling out now to something rugged and wild. Hair long enough to be toulsed but not scruffy. Shoulders broad and strong, so much wider than Bitty’s own. Bitty can feel Jack’s sharp intake of breath and he smiles at the power he can feel rushing through him. He gets to be the one to put that look on Jack’s face, he gets to be the one to ring those sounds from his lips, it’s Bitty who knows just exactly how to touch Jack to make him come to life.

    Bitty lets go and stands in Jack’s field of view. He slowly, slowly lifts the hem of his own tank and draws it up and over his body, tossing it aside as his arms come down to his sides. He slips his fingers across his stomach and trails the light blond hairs there, tracing them down to the waist of his soft grey pants. Just as slowly, he loops his thumbs into the elastic and pulls the fabric down over his underwear, sliding it off first one and then the other leg, to toss them aside as well.

Jack throws his head back when he sees what Bitty is wearing underneath. He snaps his head back quickly and doesn’t move that laser focus from Bitty’s body. Bitty can see Jack’s bottom lip pulled taught between his teeth.

    ‘ _Crisse_ , Eric.’ His breath expels hard on every word, ‘where did you even get those?’

    ‘What, these ol’ things?’ (though it comes out more like ‘thangs’, with his suddenly drawn-out accent). He gestures to the white lace, boy leg panties that fit perfectly around his trim hips and the tops of his thighs. The lace is sheer, but the pattern is white with a very subtle frill in the trim around the legs and waist. They are the most feminine thing Bitty has ever worn (though they are, in fact, men’s panties) and they feel so amazing, he almost doesn’t want to take them off.

    ‘Eric, you are killing me,’ Jack says, but the smile is all in his eyes. Bitty can see just exactly what he is doing to Jack and they both love it.

    ‘Now, honey,’ Bitty says, as he crawls up onto the bed and between Jack’s thighs. ‘You know I would never do any such thing.’ And he slips his fingers into the waistband of Jack’s shorts to pull them slowly and smoothly down his legs. The tank is going to stay on, being that the cuffs are already in place, but Bitty doesn’t mind. He simply rides it up under Jack’s armpits so that he can bite and suck at Jack’s hard nipples while Jack struggles lightly with the restraints Bitty has him in.

    ‘Fuck I love you, I love you so much,’ Jack says between gasps and Bitty laughs.

    ‘You know it doesn’t count when we’re in the middle of me having my way with you, darlin’.’ Jack huffs a laugh in return, but he’s too distracted to pay attention fully. Bitty reaches down and slides off Jack’s underwear, throwing them across the room, somewhere amongst all their other discarded clothes. He plucks at a condom that he had tucked under the dark blue, Egyptian cotton towel he put down on the bed earlier (Bitty learns from his mistakes) and stands back up, to inch off his gorgeous underwear and stand naked by the side of Jack’s bed. He feels so in control, it doesn’t even occur to him to be embarrassed. He reaches for the bottle of lube beside the bed and then crawls back over Jack so that he’s straddling him around the waist. Then he reaches behind himself to slowly, slowly, work himself open. He’s bent over almost all the way into a bridge position and Jack is struggling much harder at his restraints now as he tries to reach out to touch Bitty, or to touch himself. Bitty isn’t sure which.

    ‘What colour are you, darlin’?’ Bitty asks, breathlessly, feeling the pleasure of his own fingers as he works them inside himself.

    ‘Green, so, so Green, Bits.’

    ‘Good, sugar, you’re doing so good for me.’

Bitty can hear the breathy, drawn out moans from his own mouth above Jack’s laboured breathing, and because he’s given himself a bit of a head start in the shower, it doesn’t take too long for him to feel ready. He takes it just a bit further, wanting to make sure (in a way he never bothered before, being young and unsure of his own body) that he’s fully prepared to take Jack without being in any pain.

    By the time Bitty bends back up to bracket Jack with his arms, Jack is watching him, pupils dilated and fixed to Bitty’s face. Bitty leans down to capture Jack’s mouth (he can’t help himself) and Jack kisses back with a controlled ferocity that Bitty feels all the way to his core. They spend too long pressed together like that and Bitty has to tear himself away just to slide back down Jack’s body and roll the condom on (Jack is so lovely and so, so hard). He holds Jack’s intense gaze as he settles down onto him, slowly and deliberately (not as sexy as he was hoping) so that it feels all good, pleasure without pain. His hands are resting on Jack’s beautifully solid chest and he arches up, seeking the right position to really feel Jack where he wants him. And once he gets it, he rides into it, pushing along it so that the heat and electricity pulse through him. He tries to keep watching Jack as Jack watches him, struggling against Bitty’s restraints but unable to reach Bitty, the loss of control driving him crazy and drawing a litany of glorious noises from his wet, hot mouth.

    ‘Still… still green…?’ Bitty asks, voice hitched and broken.

    ‘Oui… oui… yes. Fuck!’ Jack thrusts his hips right up into Bitty and Bitty throws his head back at the jolt of pleasure that shoots through him. Next time, next time he’ll take the time to be more dominant, more authoritative, but this time, he’s just riding the wave of what they’ve lost themselves in, and they both rock and shift and roll against each other until Bitty takes a hand from Jack’s chest and strokes it along the length of himself, once, twice and a third time before he’s coming all over Jack and himself and Jack cries out (still watching him, eyes never leaving Bitty) filling the condom inside of Bitty, wave after wave.

 

It takes a minute for Bitty to collect himself and he gently, very gently, pulls himself away, drapes himself over Jack and reaches up to undo the restraints. Jack’s still watching him, a sort of amazed clarity in his expression. Once his hands are free he grasps at Bitty, pulling him close, pressing their bodies together, and Bitty lets him touch and feel and explore for a while, before climbing away and getting what he needs from the bathroom to clean them both up, draw the covers over them (he throws the towel into the hamper and pulls the panties back on, because honestly, he’s a little in love with them) and then wraps Jack up in his arms to pet and praise and coo at him until he falls asleep smiling, warm and softly snoring. Bitty takes a little longer to drift off, and as he does, he knows, is sure, that everything about the pair of them fits together perfectly. One month down. Two to go.  

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter. I actually felt like I was doing some of my best writing, right there in the moment. That hardly ever happens! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it just as much. Come yell at me on tumblr if you wanna digest it all with me in detail. I love talking to people (can you tell?). and I especially love all of you. @darter-blue is my handle.
> 
> Oh yeah, if you wanna skip the explicit stuff, just end the chapter at 'Now honey,' and just imagine that it all goes well and they fall asleep together in bliss :) if you wanna skip right from the restraints (very vanilla stuff, no pain, no hurting, all consensual, just fun) then dont read past: He cuts-off Jack's rebuttal before it begins...


	14. Jack (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus easter (birthday) chapter:
> 
> Jack wakes up to Bitty, and wonders how he can return the favour...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Bonus chapter! Lets pretend it's an easter gift (because, yes, there are still two chapters left) and not that I sat down to write chapter 14 and then the opening paragraph turned into 3000 words that I just couldn't bring myself to cut...
> 
> Also its my birthday on Tuesday, so, Happy Birthday to me! have a chapter (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely jujubeans. You are the best and greatest friend/ beta known to writers everywhere.

  
  


Jack wakes up to maybe the best thing that a person (any person, Jack’s not biased about this, he’s absolutely positive that there is not a person in the world who could disagree) can wake up to. Soft blond hair, the long, lean expanse of Bitty’s tanned, flawless back (the freckles only add to the perfection, not detract) and a teasing display of the lace at the waist of his underwear. Just enough for Jack to remember that it's there, but not enough that he can actually see more than half a centimetre of the white frill trim. It’s a rare treat, in fact, for Bitty to be thusly displayed. Usually he’s wrapped up next to Jack like a bunny in a burrow, holed into the doona, using it as a shield between himself and the ‘chill’ of the Rhode Island morning and the ‘too, too early’ rising of the sun (Jack is of course directly quoting his less-than-acclimated, and distinctly non-morning-friendly boyfriend). Such a rare treat, that Jack has the sudden realisation Bitty has woken up before him and arranged himself this way. He can tell, because Bitty isn’t asleep, he’s just pretending to be. It’s the breathing, not deep enough, not slow enough, no gentle, quiet snores, that ultimately gives him away.

 

Jack doesn’t know how he got this lucky. After all the things he’s done wrong in his life, and there have been many (not a helpful mindset, his therapist would say. Where is your self-care, Jack?), he has been blessed with the beautiful man stretched out beside him. He’s knows people are tempted to call Eric a ‘boy’ but it would be a mistake. Eric has a strength he isn’t even aware of.  Just to survive what Eric has survived, and still have the attitude, the positivity that he carries, is more inspiring than Jack has managed to convey. His body is a combination of soft, smooth, sunkissed sweetness and hard, toned, taut muscle; traits his size doesn’t truly reflect. It’s evidence of his discipline and the dedication with which he approaches the things he loves. His hockey, his skating, his cooking, his friends. And Jack now knows he can add himself to that list. Eric loves him. Loves Jack.  _ Loves _ him. He doesn’t just tell him, he  _ shows him. _ In the way he organised and prepared the meal for their anniversary (Jack will be working VERY hard to rectify the fact that little date had slipped his addled brain) in the way he researched and implemented all of the special treatment he had applied to Jack’s body. In the way he had cleaned him, held him, kissed him, touched him, as they fell asleep together. It was more love and warmth than Jack had ever felt in his life. Eric  _ understood _ so much about Jack, understood and celebrated his idiosyncrasies rather than overlook them, ignore them and hope that with time, Jack could be changed.

 

Jack slid closer to Eric and gently dragged his fingertips along the curve of his hip, up over his ribs, across his shoulder blade and down to the nape of his neck, up, up into the downy softness of Bitty’s hair. God he was gorgeous. He could feel Eric shiver beneath him and pushed his fingers further into his hair, to pull through at the length of his fringe and sweep it across his forehead. Bitty rolled onto his back and looked up at Jack with half lidded eyes, such a warm, chestnut brown in the bedroom’s rusty dawn light. His smile was sleepy but full of promise. 

‘Hey.’

‘Goodmornin’, honey.’

‘Morning.’

‘How you feeling after last night?’ Bitty asks, he sits a little on his elbow and opens his eyes wider, as if waiting for more serious news. Jack can’t help but look away and shrug. He feels so good, but also a little sheepish about their night together. Very few people have ever seen that side of Jack, and none of them had treated him with the reverence that Bitty had. 

‘Good,’ he says, because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself by gushing. 

‘Good?’ Bitty asks with a frown, like that is not a satisfactory answer. He’s searching Jack’s eyes, presumably for an idea of whether good means ‘good, I’m Jack, Hockey Robot, and sometimes I forget to emote’, or ‘good, I’m full of regret but don’t know how to express that’.

‘ _ Really _ good.’ Jack emphasises. He rubs his thumb along Bitty’s pouting bottom lip, too plump and pink not to touch. ‘I feel like the luckiest man alive.’ Well, so much for not gushing. he can see relief in the way Bitty’s shoulders drop before he bumps his forehead onto Jack’s shoulder. 

‘ _ Jack _ ,’ is all he says, and Jack can feel Eric’s head shake against him. He’s laughing at him. Which is probably well deserved. 

‘Are you  _ laughing _ at me, Eric Bittle?’ He pulls back a little so that he can squint menacingly at his boyfriend. It only manages to make Eric laugh harder. ‘Oh, I see how it is,’ Jack says, growling, flipping himself over Bitty and pressing him into the bed, holding his hands (twining their fingers together, because he loves to feel Eric between his fingers) by his head. Bitty is still laughing, a little breathlessly now, and Jack nuzzles along his nose. Actions and pressure in opposition to the timbre and gruffness of his voice. 

‘I would never,’ Bitty says, between giggles, ‘never deign to laugh at you, Mister Zimmermann.’

‘Just as well,’ Jack says, moving down to run his tongue over Bitty’s nipple before snatching at it with his teeth. Bitty gasps beneath him and arches up into Jack. He lets go of Bitty’s hands and ghosts his fingers along his arms. When he gets to the inside of his elbow, Bitty flinches back with a soft huff of laughter.

‘Jack,’ he whispers.

‘Mmm?’ Jack says, going back in to press with even less pressure against Bitty’s smooth skin.

‘Jack!’ he hisses, laughing more and flinching further. Jack smiles to himself and lets his mouth travel further down Bitty’s body, pulling the covers down and backing up to get a better look at the masterpiece beneath him. 

‘Bits,’ he starts, ‘Bits… these panties.  _ Saint Osti de tabarnak.’ _

__ _ ‘ _ I had a feeling you might like them,’ Bitty says. True to form, with just enough sass that Jack knows he’s teasing, but also a vulnerability that seeps into Jack’s blood and warms it. Bitty takes risks when he flirts with Jack, he’s good at it because he’s comfortable enough with Jack that he can let go, and raw enough that Jack knows it’s real. Jack looks up into Bitty’s face and meets his shining eyes. He puts his hands on Bitty’s hips and raises an eyebrow. Bitty gives him the tiniest nod in reply, but his smile widens. It’s enough for Jack to lift Bitty up and flip him over. He glides back up Bitty, cheeks trailing against his back to kiss and bite at the nape of his neck.

‘Is there something you want, Bits? Something I can do for you?’

Bitty looks up at Jack over his shoulder and just smiles and shakes his head.

‘Don’t you have a fantasy, babe?’ Bitty is staring at him and Jack can see the blush rise in his cheeks. 

‘I do,’ he whispers.

‘What is it?’ Jack asks, kissing gently behind Bitty’s ear. ‘You can tell me, Bits.’ He presses his face against Eric’s until their mouths are almost together. ‘You can tell me anything.’

Bitty pulls back just enough that he can look up at Jack from beneath his long, dark lashes. ‘It’s you, Jack. It’s just you.’

‘Bits.’ Jack watches Eric. Watches him open that door, and feels affection rush at him.

‘Having you to wake up to. Having you looking at me like you do. Telling the world that you're intimidated by little ol’ me? I mean. It's terrifying.’ Bitty twists his body gracefully so that he’s on his back, and lifts his hands to cradle Jack’s face. ‘I’m twenty one years old. And I think I already have everything I ever wanted.’

 

Jack doesn’t take time to think about it. He lunges at Bitty’s mouth and tastes those words on his tongue. He flips Bitty back over again to more laughter, leaning his forehead between Bitty’s shoulder blades and laughing with him. He moves down and reaches the waist of the white lace, tracing it with his tongue, pulling at it with his teeth. Eric’s skin is dark enough that he’s easily discernible from the sheer pattern of the fabric, his ass is firm and round, pert and muscular from years of skating. Jack bites into the flesh below the elastic, the join of Bitty’s thighs and cheeks, the curve of his muscle, one of his favourite places to lick and lave at Eric. He nuzzles back over Bitty’s ass and then sinks his teeth into the fabric of the panties to pull them down and slowly off, dropping them at the foot of the bed. He follows those delicious legs back up to the now naked and slightly undulating swing of Bitty’s hips. Jack holds them down and settles between Bitty’s legs. He runs his hands down Eric’s thighs and bends his knees just enough that he can reach his perineum with his tongue. He brings his hands back up to spread Bitty’s cheeks and lick up into the delicate skin around his hole. Bitty’s undulations become more pronounced as Jack works his tongue around and slowly inside of him, applying gently more and more pressure until he can taste him so completely he wants to hold that taste in his mouth forever. 

 

He can hear Bitty whimpering softly, whispering out Jack’s name like he’s praying to him. Jack can feel himself getting hard, but he’s ignoring it now, wanting only to hear Bitty cry out so that the neighbours can hear. Wishing everybody could feel the perfection of Bitty beneath him, his perfect skin, his perfect grace, his perfect taste, perfect heart. They’d never question them again. They’d know what Jack knows. That Bitty is  _ it.  _ He’s Jack’s lobster. Is that what they say? Jack loses his train of thought at the sound of Bitty breathing faster, harder, chanting  _ yes,yes,yes _ . He finds that spot that makes Bitty’s whole body shudder, rock his hips fiercely into the mattress and then back up into Jack’s mouth and works at it carefully, gently, but faster and faster, harder and harder until Bitty cries out, ‘Jack, fuck, Jack!’ and arches up, almost knocking Jack off the bed. 

 

Jack comes up for air and chuckles softly at the sight of Bitty still writhing on the bed, little aftershocks rocking through him, flopping over on his back, panting before popping up and looking at Jack with a frown. 

‘We were supposed to keep these sheets  _ clean _ Jack!’ he admonishes, and Jack just laughs for real at the adorable huff of irritation in Eric’s voice. 

 

It’s not until later, once Jack has come in Bitty’s delicate and deft hands, that it occurs to him, how much power he has now. The power to break Bitty’s heart. To hurt him.

 

It felt safe before, when Jack was the one invested. When Jack had all his cards on the table. When it was Jack’s heart on the line. 

 

He waits for Bitty to make his way into the kitchen, ready to make some kind of white bean ragù? (‘it’s  _ protein _ Jack’, he had said, with a smile and a kiss to the tip of Jack’s nose). He waits until he’s alone in the bedroom, to slip into the bathroom and sit on the edge of the bath. Put his head between his knees. and breathe. count to five. breathe. count to five. what if he fucks this up? what if he ruins everything? Jack ruins everything he touches. What if this is all a horrible mistake. 

 

That's when he hears a knock at the door.

‘Let me in, honey.’

‘I’m fine, Bits.’ Jack says through clenched teeth.

‘I know you're not, sweetpea. You’re freaking out in there, I can feel it.’

‘Bits.’

‘Jack.’

‘Leave me alone please.’

‘Jack, honey, I’m not going to do that.’

‘Jesus, Eric, I’m not a fucking five year old, just give me a minute!’ He yells and immediately knows it was a dick move. He can see the shadow as Bitty slides down the door to sit on the floor.

‘Jack,’ he says, sighing heavily, ‘I’m not going to pretend that it's okay for you to talk to me like that, but I do understand that you are havin’ a moment right now.’

‘I’m sorry, Eric, but I just need a minute, please.’

‘Alright, I’m going to give you a minute, sweetpea. But I need to say… just let me say. I love you. I do love you, but if something goes wrong, if we fuck this up, it won’t be the end of the world, okay?’ Jack can hear the fear in his voice, but it’s firm and it’s not angry. It’s resolved. ‘I mean, you know, either one of us might do something stupid, or awful, or maybe we’ll just drift apart, or maybe we’ll drive each other crazy.’

‘Bitty, this isn't helping.’

‘Just, listen. Remember what you said to Shitty?’ Jack thinks back to that dinner at Shitty’s house and how he’d been so sure that he and Eric would defy their expectations. ‘Remember that you said I was the strong one? Well it’s true, Jack. Don’t forget that okay?’ Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. ‘Even if everything goes horribly wrong, I can survive you, Jack Zimmermann.’ Jack thinks about that for a second. Thinks about what that really means. That even if the worst happened, Eric would go right on living his life, maybe playing pro hockey, maybe making some celebrity cooking show, probably still having dinner with Jack’s parents (they really did love him, it was nauseatingly sweet). and Jack, well he knew what he could pull himself back from. He could probably survive. 

‘I guess, I’ll always have hockey, eh?’ Jack asks, attempting to make a joke and laughing at his own expense. He can hear Bitty laugh on the other side of the door.

‘Yes, well, if Tater doesn’t kill you for breaking my heart. Or just, you know, amputate your legs or something.’ Jack has a vivid vision of Tater’s face the day he had shown up at Jack’s door looking for his Itty Bitty Baker and didn’t like his chances. If that wasn’t enough of an incentive to be an amazing boyfriend, husband, supportive whatever, then Jack deserved what he got. 

 

He suddenly felt like he could breathe again. The room wasn’t blurry. 

‘I hear you coming back to me in there, mister.’ Bitty says softly. Jack just gets up off the bath and opens the door, laughing as Bitty falls in a little as the door swings in. He catches himself pretty quickly though.

‘Sorry, Bits.’ Jack says, chagrined.

‘Don’t be sorry, honey,’ Bitty says, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and leaning onto his chest. ‘You’re always allowed to freak out on me, just don’t shut yourself away. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ he whispers.

‘Good boy. Okay. Come and have some protein. You have a game tonight.’

 

He sits across the bench and watches Bitty cooking (in those panties,  _ criss de chalice _ ) a recipe he found just so Jack could have his protein in the morning with a breakfast better than anything he’d ever smelled from any fancy restaurant his parents had ever dragged him to. He watches Bitty sing and dance to imaginary music in his head and has to fight not to reach out to touch him, lift the hem of his falconers jersey and bite marks into those thighs (he has to close his eyes momentarily, at the sight of those  _ thighs _ ). He wonders how long is an appropriate length of time to wait before proposing. Six months is maybe as long as he’ll last. He wonders if he can trust Tater to keep his mouth shut if he asks him to help him go ring shopping (Tater makes a surprisingly excellent shopping partner). He wonders what the future will hold.

 

Jack watches the man he loves watch Jack and love him back. Maybe he will fuck up. Maybe it will all end in a reign of fire. But this, Bitty, the two of them, Jack is sure, is worth the risk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for extending this fluff fest even further. I never meant for this chapter to exist, but I guess Jack had other ideas *winky face*
> 
> Still two chapters to go, the next one will be Jacks POV again, because I meant for all of 14 to be about Jack (but Oops, bonus chapter). 
> 
> I hope you all had a happy Easter and gorged on chocolate (like I did) and enjoyed your extra hour of sleep if daylight savings just ended for you (yay! and also if you just lost an hour, suck it! hahahaha, just kidding, I hate that too) and your families (I nearly got into a knife fight with my brother, but hey, what can you do?).
> 
> See you in two weeks!
> 
> 〜(^∇^〜）（〜^∇^)〜


	15. But What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack leads the Falconers through the last games of the season. And then it's over. But what's next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Folks,
> 
> So yeah, after this? Only one to go...
> 
> Are you ready?

 

They lose. San Jose outplay them and get up by two goals in the end. And honestly? Surprisingly? Jack isn't even worried. They have two games left to play. They’re in surprisingly good shape for a bunch of guys who've essentially been beaten bloody, over and over again, for the amusement of a crowd who really only appreciate them when they’re winning. It would be demoralising, if he didn’t love the game so fucking much.

 

Tater is actually more than disappointed that they didn’t win. He’s _livid,_ because it means he won’t be able to film Eric’s vlog for at least another week. He’s talked of nothing else for so long now (realistically, it’s been a few days, but it _feels_ like forever) that Jack is almost as keen to have him film it, if just to get it over with. To be fair, Jack has never had the same obsession with food as his teammate. Jack is starting to see the appeal of it but to be truthful, it isn’t the food itself that Jack loves, it's the thought behind its preparation. It’s the idea that someone cares about him enough, _loves_ him enough, to spend all that time and attention making him something that will taste good, be healthy, and provide him with the protein and the vitamins his body needs to keep him strong, but not weigh him down. It’s a flat out, tangible, delicious declaration of affection and Jack can’t get enough of _that_.

 

Bittle is waiting after the game to accompany Jack out for commiseratory drinks, but Jack’s not sure he’s up for a team bonding night. Except he’s the captain. He has the younger boys to talk down from the loss and the older guys to rile up ready for the next game (which they have to travel to, and god, is that getting old). But Bitty makes the idea of going out so much more palatable. Having his warmth at his side, hearing that soft southern drawl as it says exactly all the right things to lift broken spirits and sweeten bitter losses.

‘So, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be on television tonight,’ he says with a wry grin as Jack reaches him. ‘They may have to edit out some of the language though.’

‘Hey, bud,’ he says, wrapping Eric up in his arms and leaching as much of the sunshine as he can into his own, cold, tired bones. ‘You look nice.’

‘Well aren’t you sweet,’ Eric says with a bigger, more genuine smile this time, though Jack is sure that he knows exactly how gorgeous he is. Eric loves nothing better than to drive Jack crazy with the juxtaposition of his soft curves and hard lines, muscle hiding just underneath the lean length of a body small enough to tuck under Jack’s shoulder, but strong enough to hold Jack down. _Crisse_ , he has to stop thinking about this, the last thing he needs is the media jumping out from around the corner to find Jack on his knees, mouth in the open fly of Eric’s tight jeans. Jack never really understood why any of the guys would be so distracted by sex all the time. Not until he met Eric at least. Now he has to actively work just to get it out of his mind. His boyfriend, ( _boyfriend!)_ is the sexiest thing that Jack has ever seen in his life.

The thought makes Jack smile and Eric places a hand on his chest at the response.

‘I know what you’re thinking sweetpea, but keep it in your pants for at least another hour.’

‘ _Babe_ ,’ Jack exhales, pressing his forehead down onto Bitty’s, ‘you’re killing me.’ Eric just laughs, dragging Jack by the hand back into the locker room where the boys are basically dressed and ready to go. Jack and Eric both get cornered by a tenacious reporter, microphone in their faces and questions fired rapidly, about the game, the loss, the mood in the locker room, and then, of course, about their relationship.

‘I’m happy to answer questions about the game, the team, anything hockey related in general,’ Jack says, ‘but mine and Eric’s relationship is none of your business.’

‘Trouble in paradise?’ the reporter spits out, gleeful raise of the eyebrow. A sharp laugh escapes Eric and he quickly covers his mouth with his hand as if to hide the fact.

‘Okay there, bud?’ Jack asks with a chuckle. Because really, Eric is ridiculously adorable.

‘Hush you,’ Bits says under his breath, cute little scowl in place. The reporter watches the exchange with interest. Eric has yet to do any interviews, speak to any press, or get any kind of comment in print (that wasn’t just the heresay of attention grabbing fans).

‘Did you have something to add to that, Mister Bittle?’, the man asks.

‘Oh no, not at all,’ Bits says, flustered under the stare of the burly reporter with his sharp little eyes.

‘You don’t care to comment on the fact that you might be enough of a distraction to the team to lose them the cup this year?’

‘Oh _lord_ ,’ Bitty says, and Jack can hear the disgust in his voice.

‘Bud,’ he says, a little reproachful, because he doesn’t want Bits to say something he might regret. He hasn’t really had enough media training for this yet.

‘Bless your heart, honey,’ he continues, ignoring Jack completely and the threat in his tone is clear. ‘If you can’t see that these boys are professional enough to ignore the  _distraction_ of little ol’ me, then maybe you’re in the wrong business.’

The reporter looks much like he’s been slapped for a minute, but recovers enough to ask, ‘So you don’t believe the media response to this “relationship”-’ Jack can  _hear_ the patronising quotation marks in this guy’s smarmy voice ‘-has overwhelmed the Falcs and their fans, damaging the game?’

‘If that’s true, wouldn’t that be _your_ fault? Not ours?’ Bits says, all false sweetness and innocence. ‘I mean,’ he continues, going in for the kill, ‘aren’t y’all gossip columnists just being a bit dramatic? None of the other players’ “relationships” seem to be a problem.’ There’s a vein in the guy’s forehead threatening to burst over his being described as a ‘gossip columnist’. Jack is trying really hard not to laugh at his expression. He’s not succeeding. ‘Oh will you look at the time?’ Bits says with a big, fake grin, ‘we simply have to go catch the rest of the boys.’

They leave the press to the empty locker room. Jack’s papa texts him a clip of the interview (it was live) while they’re driving to the bar to meet the guys, but they don’t get a chance to watch it until later, seeing as Jack simply can’t wait another second to get his mouth on Eric and they have to pull over while he wraps his tongue around the heat and hardness of his writhing, moaning boyfriend. He almost hopes someone catches them, because honestly, he wouldn’t mind seeing a video of this himself.

 

Once they make it to the bar, Jack is reluctant to wash away the taste of Bitty with the beer being offered, but he eventually gets himself a coke, if only to help him stay awake a little longer. Bitty has everyone laughing and making idiots of themselves trying to copy his ridiculous dance moves, and when a song comes on that he loves (Jack has  _no_ idea who it is) he pulls Tater onto the meager dance floor and, even with the kitsch moves and the distraction of tutoring Tater, Bitty’s skill is obvious. Jack just watches him with something like bliss, while he makes sure to keep the boys in line - not too many drinks, kicks them out at a reasonable hour, makes sure nobody’s driving that shouldn’t be - and takes his boyfriend home to sleep, wrapping his arms around him like the precious, precious gift that he is.

 

Jack drops Bits at work the next day with an inappropriate goodbye kiss and a promise he'll see him again soon. Eric waves him away but looks miserable.  Jack finds himself wishing he didn't have to go.

 

He flies out to San Jose with the team, watching tape and looking for gaps, for contingencies, for a play that might surprise the Sharks enough to get one over them.

 

They land, file into the hotel, following a pretty strict routine now, and get themselves as prepped for the game as they can. Practice, eat, practice, eat, workout, cool down, eat, sleep, repeat. This is what Jack loves. The systematic, scheduled, rigorous structure of being a professional hockey player. He can dedicate his mind and body to the task. To the game. To the win. Only now he sometimes catches himself missing Eric. Missing his warmth and his voice and his touch. But it’s not a distraction, that reporter had it all wrong. It lightens him. It motivates him, it relieves a strange pressure that used to sit on Jack’s chest and make him feel unsure of what it would all be _for_ in the end. But he knows now, it’s for those moments. If he works hard now, if he can play hockey to be proud of, then he’s allowed to sit back and enjoy all the pleasure that Eric’s company affords him, when he finally gets it done.

 

Jack’s parents arrive on Saturday with a surprise. They are at the stadium, sitting with the rest of the Falconers family, some of the staff and the farm team have come across to support them and sit in the crowd - if nothing less than to boost the Falc’s presence in the stands and thin the herd of Sharks a little. And when Jack looks up and sees Bits there, next to Mads and watching intently, bottom lip firmly between his teeth as the Falcs come out to warm up, something in Jack settles and he knows. They’re going to win.

 

They start well, Tater gets a simply beautiful goal off a power play eight minutes into the first period. Melker Karlsson gets a shot off to Logan Couture early in the second, who slaps it past Snowy and into the net to tie the scores. But Jack’s boys have an otherworldliness about them tonight, fast feet and soft hands and Jack takes the face off effortlessly, passes it off to Guy who hits a snapshot through traffic at the goal that ricochets off Jones and goes in. San Jose have an air of desperation about them and though they need this game, at home, to take the Falcs to a seventh game for a shot at the cup, they can not get it done.

 

Jack and Marty lead the team onto the ice in the third period after an eerily calm break. They can all feel it, up by a point to win the series, ice in their blood, pain buried beneath the surface, bodies holding together, belief written on their faces. The Sharks can see it too, and they only manage to take two scoring shots to the Falcs’ six for the whole period as the clock runs down. With a minute to go, Jack finds the puck, it comes to him off a turnover he doesn’t even see, and as it taps into his stick he looks up to Bits, into his wide, brown eyes, shining with unshed tears, hands held as if in prayer against his lips, and he nods at Jack. It’s barely perceptible, but Jack reads it, reads the love there, the total faith in Jack’s abilities and Jack can feel it wash over him, charge him with a burst of speed. He takes off, gets open through the middle, snaps the puck like its on a rail, and watches it sail over the line and hit the back of the net. The buzzer sounds, his boys crush him between them, Tater absolutely suffocating them all with his affection, and it’s as if they don’t even need to play the last minute. San Jose pull their goalie, but the damage is done. The Sharks have lost. The Falconers have won, Providence are taking the cup home twice in two years, Jack is a back-to-back Stanley Cup winning captain.

 

They play out the last sixty seconds like drunk men, barely on their feet, their skates floating, and when the final siren goes it’s just a formality. They’ve done it. It’s done. Jack looks up to the stands, to the point his eyes have pulled him to all night, and Bitty is watching him, separate from the rest of the huge pile of celebrating family; and all their fans really, all the die hards who’ve travelled all the way across the country to watch their team win. Bitty is standing just off to the side, staring down at Jack, and Jack knows that no cup, no game, nothing, can compare to the emotion that Bitty has opened in him, the knowledge of what he can see reflected back at him in Bitty’s face. Mads grabs Eric’s hands and Jack loses him for a minute as he’s set upon by players and coaches and all the staff from the bench. They line up and shake the hands of shocked and devastated Sharks, Jack leading the Falconers down the line to pay respect to a great team and a clean series. Jack’s had push back from a few players, usually guys that don’t know him, a few press members, a few more fans, but none of the San Jose guys have mentioned Bitty or the developments of Jack’s sexuality in the media. He can’t really describe how humbled he is by that. The Cup comes through from the officials and Jack, as captain, does his duty in taking it for a victory lap. He passes it to Marty and watches him have his turn with it, pass it to the others, pass it to Poots, who, as a rookie, has never touched the Stanley Cup before, and can’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

 

A mass of people soon flood the ice and Jack is overwhelmed by a sea of bodies. Suddenly he can hear Bitty calling out to him, can see his little feet in blue trainers running across the ice.

‘Bits! Hey!’

‘Jack, oh my god, Jack!’ he’s laughing and crying and Jack laughs with him, pulling him into his embrace and just squeezing, picking him up and spinning them both in a circle.

‘Y’all did it! You did it, Jack!’

‘We made it,’ he smiles into Bitty’s hair and just breathes in the vanilla and cinnamon and _Eric_ that grounds him so perfectly.

‘Honey,’ Bits says, fondness dripping off the word, ‘I’m so proud of you.’ He reaches his arms around Jack’s neck and pulls him in to press his lips against Jack’s. Jack presses back, leaning into it, securing his arms around Bitty’s back and losing himself there, at centre ice, amongst the crazy.

 

It’s not until later, Jack’s giant hotel room, (Bad Bob sprang for the suite as a gift, having of course, ‘known without a doubt’ that they’d be celebrating tonight) flooded by Falconers, Bitty in his arms as they press up against the bar drinking champagne, Jack nuzzling his nose against the warmth and Christmas-scented softness of Eric’s cheeks, that Bits gets a text from his parents. It’s a selfie of Suzanne and Coach, decked out in Falconers gear (Suzanne’s in his captain’s jersey, Richard in a blue Falcs polo), with Eric and Jack mid kiss behind them, centre ice, score in the top left corner of the television screen, Suzanne and Richard both framing the screen with their thumbs up. The caption simply reads: we’re so proud of you both. All Jack can think (and hopefully doesn’t say, though he _has_ had a fair bit too much alcohol for his own liking) is that these are going to be his in-laws someday. And it’s a wonderful feeling.

 

It’s a few days later when Jack gets back from California and collapses into his bed. Heaven. Eric’s back at work and though Jack can tell something has soured there (he wishes he would just quit actually, everyone can see that it’s starting to make him miserable) he refuses to talk about it. It’s good for his resume, quitting now would be giving in, he doesn’t need flack from both Shitty _and_ Jack, blah blah blah. Jack feels a little nervous that Bits doesn't trust him enough to talk about it with him, but he also knows Bittle enough to be aware that he is a stubborn little shit and won’t do anything just because it will make it _easier_ for him.

 

‘Jack, you won't be trying to tell Itty Bitty what he should be doing with his internship, if you know what’s good for you,’ Shitty says to him over the phone when he rings him for another Eric ‘emergency’.

‘What do you mean? Why not?’

‘Bitty won’t appreciate you treating him like he can’t make his own decisions. And also, not for nothing, Hunter was pretty fucking controlling and it drove Bits nuts.’

‘What really happened there?’ Jack asks, genuinely curious about Bitty’s ex boyfriend and how anybody could not recognise the stunning privilege of having Eric Richard Bittle in your life.

‘Not my place to tell you that, my friend.’

‘Right, of course, thanks Shitty,’

‘No probs, captain back-to-back Stanley Cup winning, king of the world.’

Jack hangs up thinking it’s pretty nice to have another friend, even if he’s a bit strange.

 

It’s the weekend again before he gets to see Bitty. He drives over to Samwell to have dinner at the hockey house, a house that Jack honestly worries might fall apart around him as they eat. He wonders how long it will be before he can convince Bitty to move in with him. It’s not too far a commute to keep up his classes, although Bitty will be captain next year, so he’ll need to be at the rink more than any of the rest of the team. Maybe he should buy him a car as well, save him taking the train on his own at all hours (that’s not controlling, right? It’s just considerate…).

 

Derek Nurse and William Poindexter are back at the house as well, and the four of them sit down to dinner together. Bitty gets up to use the restroom during the meal (now that Jack has a break from hockey, and he, you know, won the Stanley Cup, Bits has pulled out all stops and cooked a fucking _feast)_ and Derek and William are watching him with undisguised amusement.

‘You can ask you know,’ Derek says with more attitude than it should be possible for a person with such an impassive face to have.

‘Umm…’

‘You can ask us for dirt.’ Dex pipes in, much more aggressive, but also somehow less terrifying.

‘Dirt?’

‘On Bitty’s ex. On Hunter.’ Nursey adds helpfully, though his smile is all derision.

‘Guy was a fucking prick.’ Dex spits.

‘Too true,’ Derek agrees with a nod, and the most honest expression Jack has read on his face so far tonight.

‘Why?’ Jack has to think how to phrase this, ‘How did Bits end up with someone so awful, when he’s so…’ Jack makes a fist with both hands trying to think of an adequate word.

‘Sweet?’ Nursey offers.

‘Hot?’ Dex says at the same time, and Derek seems as unhappy about that opinion from Will as Jack is.

‘So perfect,’ Jack decides is the right word.

Nursey looks back to Jack and tilts his head as he thinks of an answer. Dex seems better prepared.

‘Because Bitty’s from Georgia.’

Jack just looks at Dex, wondering how that should connect.

‘Deep south is not exactly _gay friendly_ ,’ Derek offers. And Jack understands. Bitty hadn’t even come out to his own parents until after his first date with Jack. Because he knew it would make it hard for them just to exist beside their neighbours if everybody was aware they had a gay son.

‘But surely, as soon as he got to Samwell, the guys would have been… I mean…’ Jack doesn’t want to say that the guys would have been throwing themselves at Bits, but Jack knows full well that’s exactly what he himself did as soon as he was faced with the reality of a gorgeous, sunkissed, graceful, sweaty, skinny-jean clad Eric Bittle literally stepping on him at the club that night.

‘Bitty took a while to come out of his shell,’ Nursey says after some contemplation.

‘But even then,’ Dex adds, ‘he never recognised when he was being flirted with.’

‘God, yes, I do remember how hopeless he was,’ Nursey says with a grin. Jack can’t imagine Eric not being good at flirting. He manages to floor Jack every time he so much as walks in a room. ‘Even when Rans and Holster set him up with that Rugby guy for Screw, that guy was all over him that night, remember that Dex?’ Jack’s not sure he actually wants to know what ‘Screw’ is.

‘Vaguely,’ Dex says, looking displeased.

‘Well yeah, that guy called him for days afterwards and Bitty was just like, something about them not really hitting it off or whatever,’ Dex just shrugs and Nursey seems to choose to ignore it. ‘But Hunter was pretty relentless from the beginning. And I think Bitty just decided he was maybe ready for a boyfriend.’

‘Not exactly,’ Dex interrupts, ‘It was a bit more complicated than that.’ Nursey just gestures as if to let Dex know he has the floor. ‘Hunter was the first guy who really put a massive effort into _wooing_ Bits.’

‘Ah,’ Jack says intelligently. But he does kind of get that. He can see how someone suddenly treating you like you _matter_ , showering you with attention, could be flattering enough to suck you in, if you’re not used to it.

‘Yeah, but then…’ Dex pauses, ‘then once he had Bitty, he just... he tried to change him.’

‘It made him miserable,’ Nursey adds.

‘And he hated Bitty spending time with us,’ Dex says, looking sore.

‘Which was ridiculous, because Bitty was already living in the house by then, and we were practically here every night, too.’ Nurse presses his arm into Dex’s at the memory.

‘And he _loved_ being a part of our team, he hated Hunter for trying to take that away from him.’

‘You could see them starting to implode. Bitty was barely talking to him at the end.’

‘And then that photo came out.’

‘Right,’ Nursey makes a face and Dex is scowling with ferocity, ‘like, I mean… well, you’ve seen it.’ And Jack, the image of that photo burned into his brain, is struggling not to slam his fist into the table.

‘And Bitty finally had a real excuse to get rid of that fuckface.’ Dex says it with finality.

‘Thank god.’

‘I know, he was so much happier once it was over, even though you could tell he was humilia-’

‘Okay! I think that’s quite enough,’ Bits says, sauntering into the room. Jack feels suitably chastised by the expression on Bits face. If looks could, well, not kill, but lightly maim (and _tabarnak_ , that raised eyebrow, that challenge in his eye, is getting Jack hard under the table). Derek and Will look like kicked puppies as Bitty turns that glare to them and it softens (which, how is that fair?) in response. ‘Let’s change the subject shall we?’ and they all agree with relief, to let the matter drop.

The rest of the dinner goes by uneventfully but Jack can’t forget about that look on Bits’ face, especially when, later that night, he’s pounding his dick into Jack’s mouth over and over again (‘you were a bad boy, Jack,’ he’d said, stalking towards a waiting Jack as he practically tore through the buttons on his shirt, ‘I think you should make it up to me,’) his luscious thighs pressing in around Jack’s face, the smell and taste of him enough to have Jack coming as Bits does, without even being touched.

 

Bitty comes to spend the next few days with Jack, and Tater and Mads finally get to make their video, Bitty wanting to use Jack’s kitchen because he already has some of his baking accoutrements there (he’s slowly, slowly moving Bitty in to the apartment) and he also just thinks it’s a beautiful Kitchen. They decide on Chicken Kiev balls because it’s something Bitty feels comfortable with, while also celebrating Tater’s Russian heritage. Madison’s Iranian heritage is also celebrated with some kind of salad called a pomegranate fattoush, which sounds odd but looks and smells amazing when it’s done.

Tater has constant trouble with the volume of his voice through the whole recording (Jack is the only ‘audience’ member there and finds this hilarious, so of course, they have to keep stopping where his laugh has interrupted the filming) and Mads gets nervous every time she has to actually cook anything, but Bitty is so good at calming them down, at making them giggle, at guiding them through the process, that they make a pretty decent lunch for themselves and get what Bits calls ‘the gold’, enough that he is happy to stop filming and eat with them anyway. Jack resolves to watch the whole thing through once Bits has finished editing it, because he’s sure it will look completely different from what it does in real time. And since Jack is the first person Bitty sends the finished video to, a week later (‘I needed time to get this _really_ right, Jack’) he gets to do just that. And, as usual, Jack is floored by the brilliance of his perfect, perfect partner.

The video opens with Bitty in Jack’s kitchen. Jack is there for a perfunctory, ‘hello followers, I’m Bitty’s boyfriend,’ thing at the beginning.

‘Hunky boyfriend!’ Tater quips from the sidelines, which breaks Bitty into a fit of hysterics. ‘What?’ Tater asks, ‘Is not right expression? Jack is hunky, yes?’ to which you can hear Mads agree (Jack remembers that she had patted Tater on the back whilst desperately trying not to laugh herself).

They soon move on to introduce the Mashkovs.

‘These are my very dear friends, Alexei-’

‘Tater! Please and thank you.’

‘Apologies, _Tater_ and Mahdokht ‘Madison’ Mashkov, who have generously donated their time to help me cook for y’all today,’ Eric is beaming. Tater and Mads are beaming. Jack suddenly feels like a massive asshole for not having been the first Falc to actually show an interest in helping Bitty with his baking Vlog. It’s clearly a passion. How did he miss this? ‘So, we all are gonna be showing you how to deep fry up some delicious chicken kiev balls-’

‘We don’t usually make balls in Russia, but balls very popular in America, I think,’ Tater says with a grin, totally aware of what a shit he’s being. Bitty is barely holding his straight face together (not straight at all really).

‘Thank you, Tater, that’s right, we’ve decided to put a little US of A spin on the traditional Russian dish for y’all today and it just makes them so moist and delicious, if you beat the heck out of the chicken, roll the crushed garlic, butter and parsley up in the centre, coat it in breadcrumbs and deep fry it, you will cut into that juicy crumbed chicken and the most delicious golden stream of herb flecked butter will just flow right out of that ball.’ The magic of editing has the whole process seem much quicker than it had on the day, though Bitty is an excellent teacher and doesn’t miss a single step. Tater too, is having a great time beating, crushing and rolling the ingredients, though Mads is not convinced he should be allowed to use the deep fryer (actually just a saucepan full of burning hot oil), to which he eventually, and reluctantly, acquiesces.

When they’re done they look amazing (and had tasted _amazing_ ) and Bitty gets on to demonstrating how to put together the fattoush and the pomegranate dressing. He explains how to source pomegranate molasses and sumac from a middle-eastern grocer or more specialised chain store, Madison adding interesting insight to some of the better places to try in the area and Bitty actually taking a minute to write it down. ‘You can never be too informed about where to source your produce, folks,’ he explains as he makes the note on screen. They bake the pita bread after coating it with sumac and olive oil and Jack remembers how good it had smelt cooking (though Mads had slapped his hand away when he tried to steal one off the counter) and break it up to add to the rest of the salad before pouring on the homemade dressing. Madison is very apologetic that they don’t have fresh pomegranate seeds to add to the salad, but they’re out of season and hard to get in the States at the best of times. They finish with a feast and Jack is back on camera, Bitty (he should have known) adding in a shot of Jack with a mouth full of chicken, butter running down his chin and Tater trying to wipe it off with his sleeve, for which Mads tries to throw a wet tea towel at him, Bitty getting higher and higher pitched as he berates them for how impossible it will be to get that stain out of their clothes.

‘That top is _Armani,_ Tater.’

‘Is okay, Itty Bits, I’m buy new one,’

‘Oh my GOD, y’all live a different life, I swear.’

 

Jack gets to the end and can’t decide how he feels. It’s a great video and Jack sends feedback saying as much to an excited Bitty, but something inside him still feels off.

 

George rings him to congratulate them all on a job well done. The site’s had over ten thousand hits in the first two days and traffic is growing, but it’s on social media where the video has really taken off. It’s been viewed so many times Jack doesn’t even want to think about it anymore. In a funk, he sits down and starts scrolling through some of Bitty’s older videos. And suddenly he’s clicking on the oldest video he can find and working his way back to the present. It takes him days and he barely leaves the house in that time. Bits is back at Samwell, commuting back and forth for a job he hates. They talk every night on the phone, but Jack’s sure he can tell that something isn’t clicking like it was before. Which is all on Jack, because he’s insanely jealous that the Mashkov’s got to experience this with Bitty before he did (never mind that he was there for the entire shoot and Bitty looked over to him with the fondest expression known to man every time he tried to pretend he hadn’t just accidentally ruined their take). And he’s been binge watching a food vlog for three days straight (granted, it’s his boyfriend's and he’s becoming weirdly, creepily obsessed with it), still hasn’t shaved off his playoff beard and is sick of fending off media interviews and George’s calls and invites to team barbeques.

 

It’s all a bit much. Jack just needs a break. He very intelligently decides to go back to the vlog and find the tutorials for apple pie so that he can start practicing to make it so perfectly, Bitty will be flawed by how great Jack is and desperately want to put him in his next video. Bitty comes and stays with him for a few weeks (‘I don’t want to crowd you sweetpea, but I just miss you!’ ‘Bittle, you don’t ever have to convince me that you should be here. I want you here every day’), drags him to the team family nights, sits down to a conference call with George about how to next tackle the media. (‘Everything you’ve done so far has been perfect, Eric, but let’s try to stay on top of this’) which all drives Jack even further insane, because who the fuck cares that he and Bitty are dating? Whose fucking business is it what they do in their spare time. None of the other players have to justify their relationships to the public. Do they? (he wouldn’t really know. He’s never paid attention to that before). He’s so glad to have Eric, he just wishes they could settle and be normal for a while.

To top it all off, Kenny has been ringing him and trying to talk to him about something. Jack is ignoring him and hoping he’ll go away. He really doesn’t need to be abused for putting Kent’s sexuality into question (which, granted, is a pretty shitty thing to do) and hasn’t made any comments so far about people’s new and delighted speculation over the nature of their relationship in juniors.

He catches Bitty singing in the shower the morning after ignoring yet another Kent Parson call and his heart catches at the sight of this beautiful man, with a pretty nice voice actually, singing along to some song about angels, shampoo bottle as a makeshift microphone, hair slicked into a mohawk. Jack actually takes a little video of it (from the waist up of course) to keep for posterity. He needs something other than a food blog for those lonely nights when Bits is back at the hockey house. Bitty catches him with his phone camera and throws the shampoo bottle so hard it smacks Jack in the chest and actually leaves a mark.

‘Serves you right! Heathen!’ Bitty calls out, laughing as Jack runs away to save the video to his hard drive.

 

Everything is good and bad and confusing and Jack is trying to stay afloat. But he is having _fun._ Which is good. Right? And through all of it, Bitty is just worming his way deeper and deeper into Jack’s heart.

 

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when, after a week of no Bitty, and a week of Jack perfecting his apple pie with a lattice crust, Bitty barrels through the door, calling out and then stopping mid step as he finds Jack in the kitchen and drops the bags he was carrying in the middle of the floor.

‘Bits!’

‘Jack? What... the fuck?’

And that’s when Jack realises that their three months is up. He’s been a little distracted this week, forgotten to call Bitty at least twice. And he can see the pie that Bitty has brought with him (on the floor now, not in great shape). Except Jack is in his kitchen. Cooking Bitty… a fucking. Apple. Pie.

Shit. shit. shit.

This is not what it looks like.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me. The finish line is in sight. Let's not stumble now, Bec (I suck at pep talks), sit down and get writing!
> 
> Thanks to [jujubeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans) for the constant support and most excellent beta-ing
> 
> Thanks to [Kalee60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60) for being my bestie and listening to my endless whining and need for reassurance about this fic (and all my fics, tbh)
> 
> Thanks to Ngozi for this most amazing comic. I'm so pumped for Year Four. OMG soon!
> 
> Enjoy 
> 
> ヽ(^◇^*)/
> 
> Oh ps, in case of confusion: 
> 
> The bet they made in chapter one, was for Jack to cook Bitty a pie if he decided Bitty was right and the relationship wouldn't last past 3 months. And Bitty would owe Jack a home made pie if they turned out to be made for each other...
> 
> So oops!


	16. No pie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it is...

 

‘I know what is going on with you Jack and this is SO UNNECESSARY!’ are the first words out of Bitty’s mouth as he steps over his dropped bags and into Jack’s kitchen.

‘Bits, I’m telling you, this is not what you think!’ Jack looks desperate and Bitty hurts for it. This poor boy. 

‘Jack, I know you’ve been pulling back from me these past weeks and I know you’re worried-’

‘-I’m not, I’m not worried Bits, not like you think-’

‘-Jack! Let me finish-

‘-Bits, LISTEN!’

 

They are just yelling over each other now and nothing is going to get anywhere at this rate. Yes, he felt Jack pulling away, and yes, he’s sure it’s because Jack is just far too sentient without hockey to process things and not over-analyse them into annihilation.

‘Bitty. Stop!’ It's the terror in Jack's voice that really stops him. ‘This is  _ not _ a consolation pie!’

Bitty can hear the rushing of blood in his veins. Feel it stop. Taste it where he's bitten through his tongue.

‘It’s not?’

‘No! Bits listen…

 

‘I forgot about the bet.’

Bitty isn't sure he believes that. He wants to. But his head won't let him.

‘I knew we'd agreed on a trial period. I remembered that we were giving ourselves time to make sure this was all real. But that three months became the time I needed to wait before it would be okay to ask you to move in. That three months meant it was finally okay to ask Tater to take me ring shopping but Bits,  _ Bitty. _ I  _ forgot _ about the bet.’

Bitty watches as Jack stares at him imploringly. He's stuck on not just the idea that Jack is entertaining asking him to move in with him, but _ring_ shopping with _Tater_ (Tater? Really? What would that ring even look like?). He's obviously waiting for some kind of response from Bitty, but Bitty is, for probably the first time in his entire life, at a complete loss for words.

‘Jack?’

‘Bitty?’ his voice is strangled, garbled. 

‘If it's not… not a  _ consolation  _ pie. What’s the pie for?’ 

‘Oh! Well, it’s… it’s just. Okay,’ he starts, standing up straighter and then falling back to rest that glorious behind on the kitchen bench. ‘I was… a little… jealous. A lot jealous actually, of that video you made with Tater and Mads-’

Bitty goes to interrupt (because how ridiculous!), but Jack looks so sheepish, covering his eyes with the palm of one big hand and holding the other out to gesture for Bitty to  _ please not _ .

‘-and yes, I know that’s ridiculous. But it was like, they got to be involved in this important part of your life in a way that I didn’t.’

_ ‘Jack,’ _ an admonishment this time. 

‘I feel like I failed you, Bits.  I should have been more interested.’

‘Okay, just wait a minute now, honey.’ Jack does as he’s told, ‘it’s not your job to be the most interested person in absolutely every little aspect of my life.’

‘I know that...’

‘And it’s not your job to hang off every word I say and be involved in everything that I do.’

‘I  _ know _ that, Bits...’

‘You were there at that taping, having fun, backing me up, helping when I needed you,’

‘Yes but-’

‘But nothing. Just because I’m in the crowd at your games and not out there on the ice with you doesn’t mean I don’t love you enough,’ Bitty thinks that he can see Jack want to argue. He knows that Jack would probably love to share the ice with Bits, but it would definitely make their relationship harder. He isn’t sure that Jack fully appreciates how weird it would be to try and date someone you have to not only play with but  _ captain _ on a regular basis. It would certainly make for a strained relationship dynamic. ‘It  _ doesn’t _ , Jack. Playing a game of shinny with you or racing with you at practice is  _ fun _ . It’s  _ play _ . Just like you helping me in the kitchen, or chatting to me while I bake.’

‘I guess that makes sense,’ Jack says biting at his lip, nervous.  

‘Of course it makes sense,’ Bitty says knowingly, ‘trust me, Jack, you haven’t let me down. I was so worried you were pulling away from me, baby, you have to  _ talk _ to me when you feel like this.’

‘I'm sorry, babe. I felt so disappointed in myself for not being better.’

‘You don't need to be  _ better, _ Jack, I just want you to be  _ you. _ You're perfect. Just like this.’ 

‘I'm so far from perfect, Eric.’

‘I thought you said you trusted me?’ Bitty teases.

‘It's not the same.’

‘It is the same, darlin’. Trust me, trust how I feel about you.’ 

Jack looks down to hide the vulnerability in his expression. Bitty follows Jack's gaze down to the pie in his hands. It does look like he’s put an awful lot of effort into the lattice crust.

‘It does look like a beautiful pie though, sweetpea,’ and just as Bitty hoped, Jack’s eyes light up at the compliment. ‘How long did it take you to practice that lattice work?’

 

Jack is thrown into a wild retelling of the days he’s spent watching all of Bitty’s old vlog entries (and lord, isn’t that the most embarrassing thing...), the days he’s spent slaving over the bench, covered in flour (and Bitty  _ is  _ sorry he missed that), over the rolling pin, covered in sticky dough (oh, that visual) and over the oven, burning through three pies before finally getting the right time and temperature.

‘You know I tell you right there in my video exactly what time and temperature to use, right darlin’?’

‘I tried that, but this oven is way too hot.’

‘Well, yes, because you’ve got it on fan-forced, honey,’

‘What does that even mean?’ Jack asks, looking distraught. Bitty laughs and takes some time to explain the difference in cooking speeds between conventional and fan-forced oven settings. Hmm, maybe that’s something he needs to go through more thoroughly with all his viewers. He'll have to remind Jack later, just how helpful he really is. 

 

They slide the pie into the oven together, Bitty trusting the measurements that Jack’s research has collected, and they set the timer and step away to lean back on the bench. Together. 

‘Jack?’

‘Yeah Bits?’

‘I need to tell you something and I don’t want you to get mad.’

‘That is the worst way to start a conversation with someone who has anxiety, you know that, right?’

‘Sorry, okay, let me just blurt it out,’ Jack is closing his eyes and wincing, like he’s expecting a blow, ‘I don’t think I can move in with you until I finish school next year,’ he says in a rush, looking down at his own feet until he has it all out and tries to peer up into Jack’s face instead. Jack’s eyes pop open and he looks down at Bitty with less apprehension. 

‘Next year.’

‘Yes, I know, I’m sorry I-’

‘You want to move in next year?’

‘I just think I need to try to keep my focus on the team and on my thesis. Get as much out of Samwell as I can before I settle in here, you know?’

‘I guess that makes sense,’ Jack says, repeating his earlier sentence, but this time with exaggerated patience.

‘Are you mad, honey?’ Bitty asks, thinking that at the least, Jack will be disappointed that Bitty isn’t ready to move away from his friends and at worst, angry that he’s not trying hard enough to make their partnership equal. 

‘Bits,’ Jack says softly, cupping his hands around Bitty’s face, ‘I’m the very opposite, babe,’ and leans in to press his lips against Bitty’s, push Bitty’s mouth open gently and catch Bitty’s bottom lip with his teeth. His hands fall away and come back to wrap around Bitty’s back, pull him closer, close the space between them to nothing. Bitty’s own arms find their way around Jack’s neck and his body reaches up into Jack’s, pulled towards it as it always is, desperate to find him, touch him, hold onto him.

 

Jack pulls back and rests his head against Bitty’s as they breathe together.

‘I love you so much,’

‘I love you, too,’

‘And I would have never asked you to move in before you’d finished school, it would be a terrible idea,’

‘It would?’

‘Eric, you have a team to captain, you have classes, you have a whole ‘nother year of parties and too late nights and crazy college shenanigans to experience,’

‘ _ Shenanigans _ , really, Jack?’

‘I would never try to take that from you. I’ll get to do it all vicariously through you, okay?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ he smiles into Bitty’s mouth and Bitty can taste the contentment there. Jack is  _ happy _ about this. It’s perfect. ‘But I’m still getting the ring.’

Bitty huffs a burst of laughter and ducks his head into Jack’s chin. 

‘I wouldn’t say no, if that helps.’

‘It does.’ Jack whispers, breath shaky. ‘It does.’ And they hold each other like that, pressed together, while Jack’s pie bakes away and Bitty’s is forgotten on the floor.

 

Later that night Bitty and Jack sleep, Bitty’s cold feet tucked up under Jack’s warm thighs and their restraints safely stored away in the wardrobe. Neither of them notice their guest arrive until he knocks none too quietly on the bedroom door. 

‘Yo, Zimms,’ Bitty hears and drags himself up from a rather nice dream to correlate the strange voice with his immediate surroundings. 

‘Huh…?’ he murmurs through a sleep-scratchy throat and when he sees the outline of a person through the doorway he bolts upright in bed and switches on the bedside lamp. A familiar figure is standing in the doorway in jeans and very tight sweater, cap placed backwards over messy blond hair, never mind that it’s the middle of the night and the man is inside for heaven's sake...

‘Oh.’ Kent Parson says, narrowing his eyes, ‘What are you doing here?’ 

‘Jack!’ Bitty says, voice sharper and on alert now, ‘Kent Parson is in our bedroom.’

‘Hmm?’ Jack hums, squinting away from the light as he turns over to face Bitty.

‘You need to wake up, honey,’ Bitty says, hand on Jack’s bare shoulder, and something in his tone must seep through Jack’s haziness to open his eyes and sit him up.

‘Kenny?’ he says, voice still soft with sleep. Something in Bitty snap-freezes at that tone in Jack’s voice saying someone else’s name. ‘Parse, what the fuck?’ he says, this time with some menace amongst the confusion.

‘Zimms,’ Kent drawls, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. ‘Sorry to drop by unannounced.’

‘Kent.’ The warning there is obvious and Bitty is at least glad to hear that softness disappear. 

‘Well, you haven’t given me much choice, avoiding my calls and all, Jack. How was I meant to know your new toy would be here?’

Jack moves so fast Bitty barely registers it before he has Kent by the throat and pushed up into the door. Bitty slips gracefully after him to rest one hand on Jack’s back and another more forcefully on the arm against Kent’s throat.

‘Calm down, Jack,’ he says softly, ‘you don’t want to hurt him.’

It’s a tense few seconds while Jack refuses to back off, staring into Kent’s still smug face with quiet fury. 

‘Yeah, Jack,’ Kent says, adjusting the neck of his sweater, ‘you wouldn’t want to hurt me.’ And Bitty is certainly becoming aware that Kent Parson doesn’t like to do himself any favours. He shakes his head at the stupidity and hangs onto his patience as best he can. At least one of them has to keep their head on right. ‘I’m starting to see the appeal though.’ His eyes slide down Bitty from head to toe and back again, and Bitty and Jack both realise at the same time how absolutely without clothes they happen to be. Jack seems unfazed and Bitty (though he can feel the blush in his cheeks) tries to overlook the fact that he just got ogled by a GQ cover model. 

‘I’m gonna need my key back,’ Jack says quietly, fists clenched by his hips.

‘This key is for your emergency contact person, Jack. That’s me.’

‘It’s not you any more, Kenny, it hasn’t been you for a long time.’

Kent holds out his hand and places the keys against Jack’s chest. Jack pulls back at the touch of Kent’s hand and snatches them back. Bitty feels so awkward to even be witnessing all of it, like this is not a moment he should be sharing. But it’s not his fault they’re doing it this way. It’s their own fault for being such meatheads about their whole relationship (what little Bitty really knows about it). 

‘How are you planning on keeping me out of all this Jack, this circus you’re creating for yourself?’

‘I’m not keeping you in it, Parse. You’re the one not letting go here.’

‘That’s  _ not  _ what I mean.’

‘Kenny, I’m not going to to tell them anything, but you can’t keep this secret forever. That life’s not sustainable, Parse.’

‘I’m not hockey royalty like you, Zimms, I don’t have a famous daddy to fall back on when my shit hits the fan.’ Bitty sucks in his breath at that low blow and Jack looks like he’s been slapped. Kent is angry, but he’s also resigned now to that anger, like he’s been living with it for a long time. ‘Just do what you can, okay Jack? To keep my secret.’

‘You can’t keep doing this, Kenny. You need to get over it.’

‘Ha!’ His laugh is harsh, but Bitty can sense the sadness there. ‘Like you, Zimms? Find myself a hot little fan and tie him down and break him into pieces?’

‘I’m not breaking anybody.’ Jack warns, at the same time as Bitty says with a laugh,

‘He’s certainly not the one tying  _ me _ down.’ Both Jack and Kent turn to look at him, neither of them finding it funny. ‘I’m just going to put some pants on,’ Bitty says, backing away. Kent has one eyebrow perfectly arched. 

‘Is that what this is about?’ Kent asks, but Jack shakes his head.

‘This is about love, Kenny, I’m not sure I could even explain it to you if I tried.’

‘Ouch.’

‘It’s time for you to go.’ Jack says, backing away to pull his own sweats on, and then forwards again to force Kent out with the sheer bulk of his presence. ‘For what it’s worth,’ Jack says, as they move out of the bedroom, ‘I am sorry you’re not happy.’

‘Yeah,’ Kent replies, turning around with one last glance at Bitty and a shared, held look at Jack, ‘me too.’ The door shuts behind him and he’s gone.

 

‘I really do wonder what the doormen are even doing down there.’ Jack mumbles crossly to himself as they gingerly get back into bed. Neither of them particularly eager to talk about what just happened.

 

‘Jack?’ Bitty asks after a few minutes.

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you okay?’

He pauses before answering. ‘I think so.’

Bitty reaches over to pull him into his arms and hold him for a while, gently carding his fingers through Jack’s dark hair.  

‘It’s nice to have that over with though,’ he says after a while. ‘I was avoiding it for so long, I guess I didn’t realise how much it was eating at both of us.’

‘Poor guy,’ Bitty says a little wistfully. It must be a hard life to live. Jack scoffs at him though.

‘Don’t feel too sorry for him, Bits. Kenny always manages to land on his feet.’ Bitty just smiles at that and hopes that it’s true. If for no other reason than he isn’t fond of the idea of waking up to any more midnight visits from Jack’s ex. ‘Anyway - I think he was a little too jealous for my liking.’

‘Oh, you’re still so irresistible, huh Jack?’

‘Not of you, Bits, of me! Did you see the way he was looking at you? Unbelievable. Right in front of me.’ Bitty squeals and smacks Jack’s shoulder.

‘Shut  _ up, _ Jack Zimmermann!’ Jack just rolls them over and pushes his hips down into Bitty’s.

‘And what was that he was saying about tying you up? Where did that belt of mine go?’

‘Don’t even think about it!’ Bitty says, trying and failing to break out of Jack’s grasp. Jack just laughs harder at his efforts and starts play biting at Bitty’s throat. It doesn’t take long to turn into much more than play and poor Kent Parson is quickly forgotten, along with just about everything that isn’t just Jack and Bitty and the way their bodies fit together. Perfectly. 

 

***

 

‘I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.’

It’s eleven at night and Jack has cooked them both soft boiled eggs with toast soldiers (Bitty had never known eggs could be eaten so adorably, bless Jack’s strange Canadian ways) and they are lazily channel surfing, too tired to watch anything but too comfortable to move into bed. 

‘Then don’t go,’ Jack suggests helpfully. Bitty blows a raspberry at him and rolls his eyes.

‘I have to go, Jack, I only have one week left.’

‘Why are you even still going, Bits?  You hate that place.’

‘I need the money.’ Bitty sighs. ‘And it’s good experience.’ Which is true. ‘Plus, I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of having bullied me into leaving.’ By no means the deciding factor, but still important.

‘You are so stubborn,’ Jack says with a laugh. But he also squeezes Bits around the waist and lays a kiss on his freshly washed and fluffy hair. 

‘Well, it’s a big deal having a gay boy like me in that office. Maybe I can pave the way for more young gay boys to get work in the hostile he-man world of pro sports.’ Lord knows Shitty has drummed that into his head enough. 

‘You know it’s okay just to do things for yourself sometimes though, Bits.’ Jack pulls him even tighter and rests his chin in the crook of Bitty’s neck. ‘You’re allowed to quit if it’s making you miserable.’

‘Jack,’ Bitty turns to him slightly and looks up into his open face, ‘I promise, if this was a real, long term job, I wouldn’t stay if I was miserable.’ And Bitty likes to think that would be true - but isn’t really sure himself. ‘But I wanted to prove that I could stick this out. Not just to me, but to everybody.’ Jack is nodding, looking a bit more serious now, because he understands that concept better than anyone. But he also understands how dangerous it can be, to try to live up to expectations. 

‘I want you to make sure you put yourself first, that's all, bud.’ Jack pulls back just enough that he can look more squarely into Bitty’s face. ‘But I can trust you to tell me if it’s getting too much, eh?

‘You can, sweetpea.’

‘ _ Bien _ .’

‘Okay, well if you’re going to go all French on me, you best take me to bed.’ And of course Jack lifts Bitty right up and over his shoulder (and Bitty complains, but really, who is he kidding), carrying him off to the bedroom and throwing him down on the bed to land on top of him. And it would be much sexier if they weren’t both laughing like twelve year olds and fighting back yawns.

‘Sorry Bits, won’t happen again,’ Jack says with a wink. 

‘You’re lucky I’m exhausted, but you are in big trouble tomorrow, honey.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Jack whispers, kissing Bitty softly and then jumping up to clean his teeth. 

‘Me too,’ Bitty says quietly, watching Jack get ready for bed and wondering (quite blissfully) how this became his life.

 

At last, Bitty’s crappy internship is over and, surprisingly, they actually throw him a party. Bitty was glad of his mama’s force-fed southern hospitality that encouraged him bake mini pies for the team on his last day (and they went down with many a delighted groan). He even got a lovely letter of reference from his manager, which he wiggled in Jack’s face, just to prove that, as always, Bitty was right in sticking it out. 

 

Taking on the captaincy means Bitty has extra responsibilities, and as much as he has been keeping up with the team and preparing the house for the new school year, he also has to meet with the coaches to make plans, research plays, go through tape of the incoming players (and oh, does Bitty have plans for those frogs, he will be taking those babies under his wing! Hazeapalooza will be wall to wall pie!). There’s barely enough time between his internship ending and starting back at Samwell for Bitty to wallow in the end of this honeymoon period with Jack. Jack, who insists on dropping Bitty to the hockey house and keeping him company as much as possible before pre-season starts for the Falconers. Jack, who is stoically pretending that nothing is going to change, even while they know how much it really will.

It is nice though, to see the house start to fill with people again. Dex and Nursey are all moved in (and have disappeared to who knows where). Chowder will be moving into Shitty’s old room after the weekend (half of his Sharks gear is already escaping into the hallway). Tango is moving into Lardo’s room, bless his heart, so Bitty is preparing to be asked a million questions by the six foot equivalent of an adorably exhausting toddler. But it’s Hunter who really throws him for a loop, as soon as he and Jack enter the house, to find him sitting, stiff and uncomfortable, at the kitchen table. 

 

Jack must just assume this is another player from the team (the only photo Jack’s seen of Bitty’s ex wasn’t exactly a great shot - didn’t exactly highlight the  _ face) _ reaching over the table to introduce himself. Bitty is sort of frozen in the kitchen doorway and Hunter ignores Jack’s extended hand to stand up and cross his arms defensively.

 

Bitty can see, from a somewhat more objective vantage point now, that Hunter is a good looking guy. He’s tanned and toned and his sandy brown hair is styled to the nines. His clothes are as impeccable as always, but there’s a personality missing from them, any sense of flair or individuality that someone who actually cares about fashion would possess. Or even the kind of sweet, clueless void of fashion knowledge that Jack has, that allows him to own largely nothing but sneakers and active wear and still look adorable. It feels like so long that they’ve been separated now, Bitty can't even really dredge up any emotional attachment at all. No wonder the poor boy was so awful to him, Bitty’s sure it was almost entirely to see if, at the least, the shock value would get a response one way or the other.

 

Jack looks quite lost now that his invitation to an introduction has been rebuffed. It’s probably, literally, never happened to him before. 

‘Bitty,’ Hunter says, face full of misery.

‘Hello, Hunter,’ Bitty replies, reproachful, ‘what are you doing in my house?’

    ‘What do you  _ think _ I’m doing here.’

‘I honestly have no idea.’ 

Hunter huffs with unconcealed exasperation and a hissed, ‘Bitty!’ to which Jack bristles, head swinging between Bitty and his ex with understanding (yet just a hint of confusion).

‘It seems like you’re being very rude, certainly.’ Bitty gestures to Jack and the lack of reciprocated introduction. ‘And quite uninvited.’ Bitty may not care too much about Hunter any more, but he finds he is still angry about the humiliating experience. Having his private life spill out into a Samwell soap opera was not exactly a high point.

‘Very rude? Jesus this is just like you,’ Hunter says, kicking the leg of the chair in frustration. 

‘Hey!’ Jack arcs in response, and Bitty lays a gentle hand to his bicep, not a warning as much as an,  _ ‘I’ve got this _ ’. 

‘Oh, you think he’s yours now?’ Hunter spits, likely in an effort to be as irritating as possible.

‘Hunter, regardless of how you feel you’ve been treated or should be treated, this is my house. This is my  _ boyfriend. _ I am not, nor was I ever, something that belongs to you.’ Bitty takes a breath to steady himself and Hunter tries to take it is an opportunity to interrupt, before flinching back (wisely keeping his mouth shut) at Jack’s icy glare. ‘Either tell me what you’re doing here, or get out.’

‘This is for real?’ Hunter asks, gesturing between Bitty and Jack. ‘Not some dumb joke?’

‘I am no  _ dumb joke _ .’ Jack uses his media voice. Which is not a good sign.

‘You have five seconds to make your point, Hunter.’ Bitty reins it back. 

‘You made a fool out of me.’

‘You did that all by yourself.’

‘That was.. those were… those photos... if not for  _ him _ !’ Hunter can’t even find the words to articulate himself as he points at Jack wildly, ‘I wouldn’t even-’

‘Enough!’ Bitty cries over the top of his rambling, furious at Hunter’s audacity. ‘Neither of us were there that night, Hunter,’ he’s seething with this unshed anger, ‘I had a fucking  _ game _ that night if you recall, and you went and drank too much, and thought it would be a great idea to fuck some Chad douche and make me  _ jealous _ ?’ Bitty’s just on a roll now, there’s no stopping him and Jack doesn’t try to, as Bitty stalks across the kitchen. ‘Like it wouldn’t be  _ devastating _ . Like it wouldn’t  _ ruin _ us! No I didn’t love you,’ Hunter steps back and flinches at the words, ‘but you could have  _ talked to me _ . You just passive-aggressively hinted at all the ways I wasn’t good enough and then got  _ mad _ when I didn’t text you enough? And the best way you felt like dealing with that was to  _ cheat on me? _ ’ it’s all just pouring out and soon Bitty is exhausted.

‘Eric…’ Hunter whispers and he just stands there like a lump. A sad, stupid lump and Bitty mostly just feels sorry for him now. 

‘It’s horrible that those photos got leaked, but that was Chad and the Lax boys. That was not me and it had nothing to do with Jack.’

‘If he wasn’t-’

‘No, if you hadn’t fucked him, there’d be no photos. End of story.’ Jack says, reaching down to wrap Bitty’s hand in his. Offering endless, priceless support. 

‘We did everything we could to get rid of them. They’re gone now. Take whatever action against the publishers you feel is necessary, but leave me and Jack out of it,’ Bitty says, numbly calm now that he’s gotten rid of all that emotion. Hunter has more to say, Bitty’s sure, but either now isn't the right time, or he’s lost any sense of his argument in the face of Bitty and Jack's united front. Instead he hangs his head and leaves, careful to keep a wide berth around them both as he does so. 

 

‘Well,’ Bitty says, forcing some humour into his tone, ‘not exactly the way I wanted to start the year.’

‘But cathartic,’ Jack adds. And Bitty has to agree. At least it’s all off his chest now. Jack pulls Bitty in by their clasped hands and tucks him into his chest. ‘He seemed like kind of an asshole.’ Bitty laughs against Jack’s shoulder and thanks every god out there that he met this gorgeous man. 

‘Thanks Jack.’ 

‘How ‘bout you show me your room.’ Bitty tsks at the suggestion.

‘You’ve seen my room, Jack.’

‘How ‘bout you show me again,’ and Jack does his little eyebrow wiggle (what a ridiculous boy) and sneaks his fingers up under Bitty’s tee-shirt. Bitty shakes his head with a fond little laugh but leads Jack out of the kitchen and towards the stairs quite happily. 

‘You’re gonna be so sick of my pokey old room pretty soon, honey.’

‘Never.’

‘Not that you’ll get to see it much, I guess,’ Bitty says, struck anew by the idea that he and Jack might hardly see each other over the coming year.

‘Hey!,’ Jack stops and pulls back on Bitty until he stops, too. ‘You’ll have to get a whole drawer for me I’m going to be here so much.’ Jack corrects him fervently. ‘Every chance I get I’m gonna be here, you know that don’t you?’

‘I guess I’m just… gonna miss seeing you every day.’

‘Me too, bud. Me too.’ Jack says. ‘But you won’t have to miss me, I promise.’ and Jack is looking at him with such a satisfied smirk, Bitty is a little worried about what he has planned.

‘What are you up to?’ he asks and Jack laughs.

‘You’ll see. Later,’ Jack says as he hurries Bitty upstairs.

 

They come back down an hour later, a little rumpled, but mostly presentable, and Shitty is waiting for them at the kitchen table.

‘I can’t say that I approve of this, but I won't argue with a captain about to begin the journey for his third consecutive Stanley Cup.’

‘Shitty!’ Bitty cries, incensed ‘you of all people should know better than to kink shame!’. 

‘Fuck no, I very much approve of that,’ Shitty gestures to Jack’s sweatpants hastily pulled on backwards, ‘-just not that,’ he says, gesturing to something over his shoulder and out the front. Bitty raises his eyebrows in question but Shitty just shoos him out the door and to the porch steps.

‘What am I looking at?’ Bitty looks out over the front yard and can’t see anything worth any fuss. There’s a kid dragging a backpack that looks heavier than death along behind his poor skinny frame, a bunch of footballers in the throes of an impromptu barbeque on their lawn, a shiny red Volvo hatchback parked at the curb, but nothing that looks like it demands Shitty’s or Bitty’s attention. Until Shitty hands him a set of car keys. 

‘Happy birthday, Jacky boy!’ Shitty says wryly, as Bitty takes the keys from him in confusion. 

‘What is this?’

‘My birthday present to Jack.’

‘Keys you’re giving to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘For Jack’s birthday?’

‘Yes.’

Bitty turns to Jack for some reinforcement of really anything at all. He is so lost.

‘Jack?’

‘Those keys…’

‘Yes,’

‘Are for that car,’ Jack finishes, pointing to the shiny red Volvo.

‘Ye-es,’ Bitty says again, not sure where this is going.

‘And that car is for you.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh my GOD.’ Bitty cries, frozen. ‘Oh my GOD.’

‘Yes!’ Shitty cries, slapping them both on the shoulder. ‘And now my job is done, I’m going to eat all your food, Bitty!’ he calls back, taking off for the kitchen.

Bitty just stands there staring between Jack and the car. Mouth gaping. 

‘I can’t accept this from you, honey. It’s too much.’ And the idea that Bitty could have this, could save hours and hours of his time, driving between here and Providence to see Jack, driving to the farmers’ markets on the weekends to buy actual fresh produce and not the sludge from the stop and shop, even driving down to Georgia to see his parents, at war with the idea that this is so inappropriate a gift it’s ridiculous. 

‘Okay, just hear me out,’ Jack says, still smiling. Probably well and truly prepared for this response from Bitty. ‘Think of this as my car okay? And I’m just lending it to you for a bit, eh? The paperwork is in my name, but you and I are both on the insurance. It’s basically the safest car on the market right now so I won’t have to worry about you catching trains or buses and all the potential ways that some crazy lunatic could snatch you up.’ Bitty can’t help but smile at Jack’s passionate rant. 

‘Honey, it's not your job to take care of me-’ he tries to argue, but Jack cuts him off.

‘You would take care of me, if you could? Wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course I would?’

‘So let me do that for you too, Bits, please?’ and his face is so full of love and patience and need that Bitty can’t say no.

‘Good lord, I knew you were trouble, Jack Zimmermann.’ Jack just sweeps Bitty into a hug, practically crushing him with enthusiasm. ‘You are  _ so _ ridiculous.’

‘Wait ‘til you see the ring!’ he cries before turning bright red. ‘I mean… forget I said that!’ Bitty just covers his face with his hands. Honestly, _this_ _boy._ Who wouldn’t love him?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks. 
> 
> Have you enjoyed taking this crazy journey with me? 
> 
> Have you over indulged, just the right side of gluttony,  
> on this sugary fluff fest?
> 
> Are you as flat out, head over heels, nutso in love with these boys as I seem to be?
> 
> My job is done people. 
> 
> I love you all.
> 
> ❤


End file.
